


Navigating Is Hard When Your Eyes Are Incorporeal And Have A Nihilistic Sense Of Humour

by Anonymous



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Frisk, Flavour Text Chara, Kids, Nonbinary Frisk, Other, a little bit of a body horror mention?, but yeah definitely some charisk up in here enjoy, nonbinary chara, so warning for that i guess, the whole relationship thing will probably be slow to develop bc theyre, yknow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another human falls into the underground and Chara is woken abruptly from their sleep because who else will guide this child? Surely there is no one more qualified than a self-proclaimed demon, long dead and emotionless. Probably. Right? (Perhaps it is time to call a professional baby sitter.)</p><p>* Officially discontinued! My apologies. Thank you all for reading this over the years, but it will no longer be updating. Nor do I intend to post more Undertale fics. Sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When you fell, you died. Sorry about that.

**Author's Note:**

> This will most likely follow the kids through the underground so it's quite possible that this will be a very long fic.
> 
> coughs loudly here you go charisk fans, enjoy
> 
>  

You wake up in golden flowers. Not for the first time, but perhaps for the last. This would be the seventh human soul, then? Ah. You feel soil beneath their fingernails. But something's wrong- they still haven't opened their eyes. Everything is dark. It's not how you remember it, though that was... years ago. Years and years. Probably. It's easy to lose track of time down here. You hardly have access to a watch under the six feet of earth where your corpse rots.

They're scrabbling around in the flowers for something, but their eyes are still completely shut. You give up on this human and detatch yourself from their body for a moment- ah, purple. Yes. It's exactly how you remember it. When you look back at the human, it takes you a moment to realise. Their eyes are open now, but they're staring blindly at a wall as their hand sweeps over the flowers. Blindly, in more than one way. Their pupils are clouded over. Well. This is a first. None of the other humans who have ever fallen down here have been blind. One had been deaf, another had been missing an arm, and another still had walked with a permanent limp and the support of a walking stick. There had been a mute human, who had had to write down everything for the monsters who didn't know sign language in their ragged little notebook, and another who had seemed to be little older than a toddler. That one had boasted a battle strategy of smoke and mirrors- using a plastic blade and relying on cuteness factor for safety. Of course, that had proven woefully ineffective. They had died somewhere around the room with the Froggits.

You notice something that isn't a normal aspect of your grave's decor, and figure it must be what they're looking for.

"Hey, human."

They stop. They turn towards your voice.

"Are you looking for a stick?"

They nod. You sigh and float over to step back into their body.

"Let me move your arm. I know where it is."

They hesitate.

"Come on, human. I can't move it myself. I have to use your body. Do you want the stick or not?"

After a moment longer, they relinquish control over their arms and you reach out to where you saw the stick. You cheat a little and peek out from their head to see better. You let go of their body and drift back into the air above them after they have a firm grasp on the stick, and watch them as they get up. They hesitate a moment longer, dragging a hand over the tops of the flowers as if unsure of what they are.

"Golden flowers," you say. "They must have broken your fall."

With that established, they seem satisfied enough to continue on. With one hand outstretched, and the other holding the stick in front of them, tapping left and right on the ground periodically, they step slowly away from your grave and towards a wall. You wonder if they'd let you take over their legs to get them out of the room, but you don't want to push it. After all, this kid might take after the minority and resist the offers of power. Then they'll be essentially useless to you. You are the demon who comes when others call your name, after all. But without the calling, there is no name, and there is no demon.

You do give them directions to the doorway, however. You're not an asshole.

They have far too little LV for you to be that.

Then you watch as Asriel destroys their heart. A red one. Interesting. No wonder you can talk directly to them. All the other humans had different souls. The kid, of course, doesn't see the danger coming, and Asriel's other, more emotive face falls on blind eyes as he celebrates their misfortune. You think he's being slightly harsh, but maybe he doesn't realise that they can't see. They've kept their eyes closed since leaving the other room. They're flinching as Asriel cackles and the sharp sound of bullets clack-clack-clacking into existence fills the air. You watch the exchange silently from the sidelines- you never talk to the humans in front of Asriel. Every time you have brought a human back to life after they fell to the underground, it has been to give your brother another chance. He deserves a soul more than they do. He has never managed to procure one, however. Because this always happens.

He is thrown across the room by a well-timed ball of flame as Mom interrupts him after he says, "It's kill, or be killed." Those old words, eh? He's still repeating them, after all this time. The words you screamed at him from inside his own head when the humans of your village were killing him. The words he ignored.

He's not ignoring them now, is he?

She coddles the kid, and leads them out of the room. You tell them about the state of their soul- determination. The same as yours once was. They hit the save point.

Toriel's footsteps echo from the other room and you guide them around to the stairs, where they take initiative and become almost quadrupedal, feeling out the edge of each crumbling step before placing their foot onto it carefully. The stick is ignored for the time being, held in one hand.

When they reach the other room, they listen carefully to Toriel's _Exhaustive Introduction to Puzzles: The Idiot's Guide_ , and when they walk past signs you read them out. Sometimes you simply summarise them- repeating the same signs verbatim for years can be tiresome. But the first sign is one you always read in its entirety. Its carved letters are long faded- even Toriel's efforts are not enough to keep some parts of the ruins from falling to dilapidation. But still, you remember it. Word for word.

_"Only the fearless may proceed. Brave ones, foolish ones. Both walk not the middle road."_

You wonder idly whether this human is brave or foolish. After all this time, you know which you were.

Then they reach the next room, with you trailing not far behind them. There's something of a rope stretching betwixt their soul and the rotting remains of your own, so wherever they go, you follow. Mom explains the switches. As she walks to the end of the room, the kid wanders off the path to trail fingers over a sign so old even you don't know what it used to say. Your brows twitch in irritation, and you simply tell them to "Stay on the path." Kid can't see, and here they are scrambling all over the walls to find signs for you to read out.

You nudge them back to the path with an ethereal elbow, and guide them to the first switch. You read out the message Toriel wrote for them, and place your hand on theirs to move it to the lever.

You go to do the same with the other switch, but they hesitate when you tell them that there's another one to their right. It doesn't have any of Toriel's writing around it, and it's off the path- the blatantly incorrect choice -but they try it anyway, experimentally. Toriel's immediately disappointed, but you can detect their amusement. Eventually, they hit the other switch, and the sound of the spikes slamming back into the ground in the doorway makes them flinch. When Toriel leaves, they try the switch on the right again.

"This switch doesn't even work..." you tell them, leaning against the wall next to it. Potentially an unneccesary move, considering you can float, but nonchalance is an art; one you have been cultivating for years. It's lost on them, of course, which is unfortunate as they make up roughly the entirety of your demographic. They rest the side of a finger on their bottom lip, then raise both hands and shoulders into the air with a smile in a careless shrug, facing you. And if you were to smile, faintly, at their childish antics, well... who would ever know?

In the next room, after Toriel gives the introduction, they encounter the Dummy. They seem to be confused, for a moment, and don't even give you time to tell them their options before they swing their stick up to assess their enemy.

Instant kill.

"You won!"

They look utterly lost. Mom looks horrified enough for the both of them. "Ahh, the dummies are not for fighting, they are for talking! We do not want to hurt anybody, do we...?"

"N-no, I didn't mean it-" they stammer, gripping their stick to their chest like a safety blanket, knuckles white around the wood. But Toriel's already gone, having moved on to the next room.

You sigh. "It's just a training dummy. What's the problem?"

"Th-the problem? Did... did I just... hurt someone?"

"You killed it, yes."

"Then that's the problem! I don't want to hurt anyone! I... I..."

"Look, human, it's not a big deal-"

"Frisk," they say, as sharp as you've ever heard them speak.

"... What?" You raise a brow, even though they can't see it. All of your exasperated motions are lost on them, yet you feel inclined to indulge anyway. The opportunity to exist, in an even incorporeal body such as this, only rolls around every decade or so. You think. You're not really certain. Time tends to fly in an immeasurable manner when you're six feet under.

"Two things. My na-name is Frisk, and... and killing someone is a big deal. Why would you think it isn't?" They lower their stick back down, one end tapping the ground.

"Um, perhaps it's because I'm already dead? That's one possible reason behind my nihilism." You shrug, then sigh again. "Okay, you didn't actually kill it, alright? Training dummies are just stuffed models possessed by ghosts. You simply severed the link between the ghost and its corporeal form. You shouldn't feel too guilty about that, probably, considering it hadn't even fully fused with its vessel. Although, now, I suppose it'll never have the chance to..." You trail off as you float idly above them.

"So... wait. You're...?" You wait for a minute to see if they have an actual ending to their question. Apparently not.

"I don't know. Am I?" They actually seem vaguely amused by your response.

"You're dead? And... ghosts are.. real?" They frown, slightly. "Am I dead?"

You're startled into laughter. "No, human... Frisk. You're alive. You're welcome for that, by the way."

They seem to ignore the latter half of your answer, and their brow furrows. "I can... I can remember... falling. For a really long time. Then there was..." Their shoulders slump. "Pain." They face towards the direction of your voice. "Are you sure I didn't die?"

"I never said you didn't die."

"... Then, I did?"

"Well, I never said you didn't." You really wish you were recording this conversation. You don't know when you'd ever get the chance to listen to it, per se, but still. This is incredible.

They stamp a foot- _they actually stamp a foot_ _holy hell_ _haha, wow_ -and scrunch up their face in an expression that manages to convey an admirable amount of irritation. "You're enjoying this, aren't you!"

You go to shrug before remembering, and just laugh instead.

Then they do something that surprises you. They relax and join you in your laughter, bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet. "I guess it is pretty funny. Well," the bouncing slows, "not me dying. That isn't funny." It stops entirely. "But, I died? Then how am I alive now?"

"I brought you back. Not on purpose, or anything." You wish you'd been mummified with a nail file in your pocket. Right now would be the perfect time to nonchalantly file your nails as you hover in the air above them. "It just happened. Probably because our souls are similar." You answer the question before they waste your time asking it. "Our souls both carry the power of determination. When I was actually alive, that used to mean something. Now it just means that I can bring humans back to life if they die on my grave."

They cock their head to the side, like a dog. "On your grave?"

... You don't really want to talk about this right now. "Toriel's waiting for you."

"Oh!" They scamper from the room and the tether on your heart drags you suddenly through the wall before you can adjust your height. Well, _that_ was vaguely uncomfortable. _Nice._ Much appreciated, kid.

They encounter a Froggit in the next room- the first real, EXP-toting enemy they've encountered. It leaps out at them suddenly, and they react in turn, striking violently and without thought.

It dies.

"You won!"

They drop their stick. Dust litters the ground. It's on their hands, on their sweater.

"W-Wait. Pl-please, tell me I... Did I... that wasn't-"

"That wasn't a ghost in an inanimate body, no." They relax, breathing heavily.

You clarify. "You just killed someone."

They start hyperventilating. You watch them scrape desperately at their hands. "Wh-why are my hands cov-covered in dust-? I-"

"When a monster dies, they turn to dust. You're covered in its remains." You eye them as they try to scratch it from their skin, raising pink welts in desperation. "It's on your sweater, too."

They cry out and claw violently at their sweater, ripping it off their body and throwing it to the ground, before scrubbing at their hands again. "I-I-I, I hate- I hate this-this feeling- I, I can't-"

And just like that, you're back at the beginning. Not at your grave, not at the very beginning, but at the save point by the stairs.

They're breathing heavily, hands on their knees.

"It's... it's gone-"

"Yes, because you loaded your save file... for a Froggit." Your mouth twists in a vaguely disapproving manner. "I'm confused. Why did you reload? Is it so that you can kill them both again?"

"What?" Their eyes actually open, slightly, at that, and they stare at the empty space three inches to the left of your head in apparent horror. "Why would I want to do that? Why do you even think I would..." They close their eyes again and heft the stick in their hands. Their brow furrows. "I... don't want to hurt anyone. I don't know why... why you think I wo-wo-would. B-but-" they cut themself off suddenly, as if they're trying to untie the knot their tongue has apparently become inside their mouth. They take several deep breaths and hold the stick to their chest, smoothing the bark in their hands. "Who _are_ you?"

You're silent for a moment, just looking at them. They look to be about your age when you died, maybe a year younger, hard to tell. Their sweater is tattered and has clearly seen better days, and the leggings they're wearing under their shorts are clumsily mended and seem to have more holes than original fabric. The shoes they're wearing are a size too big and the laces are ripped, their white socks underneath stained grey. They could probably do with a haircut, in all honesty, as their bangs are hanging halfway down their nose while they face the floor. There had been a bandage over the outermost corner of one of their eyebrows, but after Mom healed them they seem to have lost it along the way. They're covered from head to toe in dirt and pollen, and their fingernails are ragged and filled with soil.

All in all, they look pretty great for a child who climbed a mountain and fell to their death not too long ago.

You decide to humour them. "I don't have a name anymore." Neither, in fact, do you have humour.

"Then... not your name, but- who... _who_ are you? And could you stop playing with me for like, three minutes? I have no idea where I am or what's really happening and so far you're the only one who seems to know what's going on so could you please-"

"Slow down there, Frisk. You don't need to use your seconds sparingly, I don't have a watch to time you with." They smile. "Though if I did, I would most certainly have set it to a three minute countdown." Their expression, despite your efforts, stays bright. You're unimpressed. "Like I said, I'm a ghost. Of sorts."

"Are you a... monster ghost? Or a human ghost?"

You blink. "I'm not a monster."

"Then you're a human ghost?"

You splutter in indignation. "I'm not a monster, or a human. I'm..." You smile. A familiar feeling rekindles in the empty cavity of your chest. Black blood rises in your throat and you let it run down your chin. It oozes from your eye sockets and where it splatters on the floor beneath you, it sizzles and burns. Your smile grows large, larger, larger, too large for your face and your clawed hands instinctively clench around the handle of a phantom knife. You float down to hover inches from their face and from deep within your chest you hiss, " _ **I'm a d e m o n.**_ "

They blink their sightless eyes. "I thought you were a ghost?"

You stop. Your shoulders slump. Of course your performance was entirely ineffective against them. _Incredible._ What a complete and utter waste of energy. Way to go, idiot, _good job._ Pull on the demon mask for a blind kid. You sigh, and give up, waving a hand dismissively as the black slime dissipates with a hiss. "I go by many names. I've never actually been... called a ghost directly, by any one person, but a demon...? Yes. I've been called that." You ignore the urge to sneeze. Pollen drifts down from the flowers blooming from beneath your fringe. You wipe it away irritably. "But I died, some time ago. I've been guiding humans through these ruins when they fall down here ever since."

"And... where exactly _is_ here?"

"You're in a place currently called the Ruins. This place used to be called Home, but... that was a long time ago. If you want a more all-encompassing answer, you're in the Underground. Home of monsters. You're the first human to fall down here in... well. Toriel gave you the full introduction earlier, didn't she."

"Home of... monsters?"

"Yes. Do they still teach young humans about the war between the monsters and your kind?"

"Uh, well, not... not really? I guess? Not in school, anyway. I've heard the stories, everyone has, but... it's just a legend. At least, it was..."

"Well, what little you may have heard was probably true enough. I'm not going to relay every single detail of monster history to you. If you survive long enough, you'll be able to find it all out for yourself. But, if you need the basics covered: monsters are real. Humans fought and killed many of them, a very, very long time ago, and forced the rest underground. Here. Humans trapped the monsters down here for an indefinite stay, and ruled over the surface with as much violence and cruelty as they exhibited towards monsters. Only this time, they have only each other to fight. Of course, you would be familiar with this, Frisk, being a human yourself. Prone to violence." You inspect your nails. "Can't be helped, I suppose. One can't fight the nature they were born with." They're chewed ragged, a habit you don't admit to.

"Wait, what? That first part, okay, I... I get it, I guess. But, just being a human doesn't make me violent or mean or- or a killer!"

You look at them sideways. "Really? But you've proven this very nature to be true, twice over." They pale. "Not to mention, you seem to have suffered at the hands of others enough to know how evil humans are, at their very core."

At that, they clam up. They don't face you, after that. They turn and use their stick to find the bottom step of the stairs, wordlessly.

It's after several minutes of stubborn silence that you're hit by a sudden, unfounded emotion. It's been so long that it takes you a little while to figure out what exactly is smouldering deep in the centre of your chest.

Regret.

Oh.

You follow them in silence for a little while, hoping they break it themself.

When they don't, you're hit with little stray embers of other emotions, particles of ash that burn in the tips of your fingers and make you want to wring your hands in- in... fear? No. Anxiety? Yes, that's it. Anxiety. Sort of a different form of fear. More condensed. More personal. More freaking _irritating_.

Finally, they get to the dummy.

You don't bother to narrate this part, knowing very well that all they're going to do is... is... not fight. Well, technically, they do, but... every time they choose to fight they... miss. On purpose. You float around to get a good look at their face and, in all honesty, they look _more_ than slightly perturbed.

"Um," you say. Ever the eloquent one. You try again. "Frisk, you know you could... make conversation with it, right?" They ignore you, and purposefully miss again. You're not really sure why that action doesn't translate entirely into mercy, but hey, you're only the narrator here. "Toriel did say that the dummies were for talking, didn't she?"

They stop at that. "... What should I say?" they ask, lowering their stick hesitantly.

You shrug. "Whatever comes to mind, I suppose."

They finally speak to it. You grin. "It doesn't seem much for conversation."

"Pffft," They laugh, suddenly, clasping a hand over their mouth. It's a small laugh, but it sends a wave of some other, long dead, alien, and yet undeniably _warm_ emotion rushing through you. Victory? No. It feels like... it could be... No, it couldn't, could it?...

 

Happiness.


	2. I'm too old for this whole "feeling" business.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chara gets a taste of emotions and then bites off more than they can chew.  
> Frisk is fine with this. Chara is lucky that they're such a forgiving child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok sorry that it's taken so long to put this up but coUGHS LOUDLY it's actually very difficult to write a story where one of the three main characters (coughs even louder; i mean You. [[youre the third character]]) is completely out of the picture.  
> especially when i somehow have to delegate certain tasks and choices to the other two characters, who have otherwise served only as mediums or w/e, as essentially a means to an end for the third. so i've been going back and forth and trying to figure out who chooses what and who offers what options and blah lah bah this is what i've come up with.
> 
> and i apologise in advance for chara's sort of sudden outburst- it just happened. i can imagine that several hundred years of bottling up your feelings could result in some seriously cathartic shit-flipping.
> 
> also i'll be cutting down on the swearing from now on. chara's like 99999 years old but they're still a kid. they probably died at the age where 'butt' was a funny word.

This time, when they encounter the Froggit, they keep their stick firmly on the ground.

"What... what is it?"

"It's a Froggit," you supply helpfully, before your expression hardens and you add, "Life is difficult for this enemy." You watch them frown, feeling almost bad for upsetting them again. Still, it's true. A Froggit's life is difficult enough without having humans around to turn them to dust. And so easily, too. 4 defence? Free EXP.

Before the battle can ensue, Toriel interrupts. She glares at the Froggit until it edges away, looking ashamed.

"You won!"

They look nervous for a moment. "But the Froggit's okay, right?"

"Of course. You didn't earn any EXP, and you ended the fight peacefully, so it's fine. Probably." you say, watching the Froggit scuttle off into the next room and sidle through a crack in the wall. You wonder where it's going.

"Any what?"

"EXP. Look, don't worry about it. You probably have plenty of it already," you mutter. You don't bother asking for their stats. You don't want to be any more emotionally invested in this than you already are.

They look confused, but keep walking anyway. They stop when their fingers find the edge of another sign. You read it for them, not bothering to look at the sign itself. It's got a whole lot of flowery poetic prose trying to be some edgey riddle, so you give them the basic translation. "The western room is the eastern room's blueprint." There. Wouldn't that have been so much more simple than this ridiculous inscription? The amount of times you've had to wait for past human children to figure out what it meant as you've sat, thumping your forehead against the wall in utter mind-numbing boredom is horrific to even think about.

They continue walking. You wonder if Toriel is going to- oh, yes, she's doing that coddling thing again. You watch her lead them through the harmless spikes with some sort of emotion dripping down your throat and drooling through your ribcage like honey.

You hate it.

You're too old to be feeling things, aren't you? Humans lose the ability to feel as they get older, as you remember from your childhood. From your pre-underground childhood, which you don't think about anymore. Ever. You think about your above-ground "childhood" about as much as you think about the "parents" and the "family" you had before Toriel, and Asgore, and Asriel. That is- not at all. And by now, after all these years, you're as much a kid as Asriel is. Or rather, Flowey, as he prefers to call himself. There's nothing of your brother left in that withered husk, and it's much the same for yourself. What little "child" you had left in you after death was stripped away by time.

Despite the maelstrom of thoughts collaborating to whirl about your skull, you allow yourself to be dragged along by your soul tether over the spikes until the human reaches the end and Toriel tells them that, "Puzzles seem a little too dangerous for now." Ha, okay. If you say so, Toriel. She says that as if she doesn't know she's talking to the most dangerous thing in the underground.

Then you listen to her praise them in the next room with a hollow feeling in your chest.

Really, this is getting ridiculous.

She gives them their next task, and you blink as she turns and sprints away, yelling "Forgive me for this!" over her shoulder.

You turn and look down at Frisk. They look thoroughly lost. "Huh-?" they ask. "Did she just... run away?"

"Yes." You squint, trying to see ahead, but there's nothing but a purple haze. This room is unnecessarily long. "You'd better hurry, if you want to catch her."

"Oh!" They start walking at a slightly faster speed than their norm, stick making a quiet scraping noise along the ground in front of them, and hand patting the wall beside them gently.

They get about halfway before slowing down, and then stopping entirely. "Um... how long is this room?" they ask.

"Short answer? Very."

"What's the long answer?"

"This room is the long answer."

"Oh." They start walking again, reaching back up to the wall. "I'm not gonna run into anything, am I?"

"You're all clear," you say, without looking. They've got about another forty seconds before you'll be able to see anything at the end of the room.

"... Um, am I supposed to be taking this seriously?" they ask, after about twenty seconds of silence. "I mean, she did sort of yell 'forgive me for this' as she ran away... is this a big task?"

"Oh, the biggest of tasks," you say, "and this is a deadly serious matter."

"R-Really?"

"Oh yes. If I were you, I would walk a little faster. In fact, this activity is almost something you could call a rite of passage for monsterkind down here."

"Wow, really?"

"Of course. They call it..." You spread your arms for dramatic effect. "The- oh wait, there's a-" and their stick hits the pillar before you manage to get your warning out. As they stop suddenly, you're thrown forward by the apparent elastic potential energy of your literal heart string, and catapaulted through the pillar. And through Toriel. Surprisingly enough, this is not a new experience.

You look at her with a raised brow once you've righted yourself in the air. She's got her claws sunk into the delapidated white marble of the pillar nervously, crouching behind it and peeking around the corner as if hiding from the view of a blind child is a necessary precaution. She's still breathing heavily, like that full-pelt (ha ha, furry jokes) sprint really took it out of her.

Frisk makes their careful way around the side of the pillar and towards Toriel. She leaps out from her hiding place and congratulates them, and you stop paying attention in favour of inspecting the walls until she pulls out a very familiar-looking phone.

Is that...  _your_ phone?

She leaves before you can do little more than splutter in disbelief- though whether you're reacting more to the fact that she just gave your phone to some human she doesn't even know the name of, or the fact that she's been holding onto your phone for all this time, you're uncertain.

"She gave me a phone?" Frisk interrupts your thoughts, which you're thankful for.

"Evidently," you say, keeping your voice even. That's your phone. You reach out and trail intangible fingers over its cracked screen, feeling the familiar grooves and the slightly melted edges from that one time you and Asriel were fooling around in the place now known as Hotland. There's even still the sticky residue of age-old melted chocolate sunk behind the '5' and '6' keys.

"Should I call her?" The keychain dangling from its side hangs empty. You wonder when she took the flower charm off it. Asriel gave you that.

"If you want."

"What should I say?"

"Uh, say hello, I suppose."

They call. She answers before the third ring. You listen to her say "Hello!" before she hangs up again.

You look at Frisk. "Call her again."

This time she says "Salutations!"

"Again."

"I can't just keep saying hi!"

"Sure you can."

They laugh, before pressing the call button again and putting it to their ear. This time, she assumes they must be bored. She mentions that she should have left a book for them to read, and you set your jaw and swallow down the lump that suddenly sticks in your throat. You try to swallow down the memories of a warm embrace and a gentle voice reading from any number of books and an old, comfortably worn armchair in front of a crackling fire, but don't quite manage the task. Then she goes on to say "Pretend you are... a monarch!" and you choke out a laugh, twisted at the end into a quiet, short-lived sob.

Frisk looks up at the sound, and you fall silent again. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you say, after swallowing again.

"Did you know her? Toriel?"

"Does it matter?" you ask irritably, folding your arms across your chest and letting your hair fall over your eyes. The flower petals tickle your nose and you ignore them.

"Well, I..." They seem to deliberate for a moment. "Yes, actually. But if you don't want to talk about it-"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"-then you don't have to. But, who is she?"

"Why don't you ask her?" you say, still stubborn. You don't want to admit that they touched a nerve there. Because they didn't. You watch the flowers above your eyebrows close up slowly.

"Okay," they say, shrugging, as their lips twitch downwards. They raise the phone to their ear again.

You float closer to them silently to hear Toriel's voice again. "I am just a silly little lady who worries too much!"

You snort, just barely suppressing the laugher that wants to bubble its way up from somewhere under your lungs. Oh, this is all too much. Between the phone, this child, and Toriel, you're something of an emotional wreck. It's an unpleasant feeling.

Toriel hangs up again, and Frisk cocks their head to the side. "She's like... she's like a soft, furry Mom."

You stop. A thought occurs, and you spit it out before your hesitation can stop you. "Why don't you ask if you can call her that?" You have to- no, no, you just, you're just curious. You simply want to know if the woman you were once coaxed to call your mother still... still has her maternal inclinations intact when it comes to humans. You don't suppose you can blame her if, after all these years, she's cut that portion of her life from her mind, but considering the phone... you're not certain what she thinks of you anymore. Ha, if you're being truthful here, you were never fully certain. If you were her, you would never have raised a human child.

Especially not one who fell from the surface with blood on their hands and scars on their limbs.

You could not blame her if she were to consider you the reason behind her real child's death, and nothing more.

Perhaps knowing for certain would make it easier to let go of this world for good.

But then again...

Frisk presses the call button again, and you listen, tentatively.

"Hey, Mom." You almost admonish them for being so blunt about it, but then she replies.

"Did you just... call me... 'Mom'?" You can hear her almost brighten over the phone. "Would that make you happy? To call me... 'mother'? Well then, call me whatever you like!" And then she hangs up.

You blink. Well that test was... inconclusive. 'Call me whatever you like!' What does that mean? You have no idea. You're still trying to figure it out when Frisk speaks again.

"Should I call her again?"

"It's your phone. Do what you like."

"Says the ghost who just made me call someone four times in a row," they laugh. "What should I say this time?"

"Hell, kid, I don't know. Say hello again, ask about the weather, flirt with her, I don't care," you mutter, arms still crossed firmly across your chest, floating as far away from them as you can be.

They brighten suddenly, and you feel like you've made a slight miscalculation. Before you can stop them, they're calling her again. "Hey Mom, what fabric is your dress made out of?" Wait, are they seriously- "Because it felt like girlfriend material to me!" They are. Oh my god.

"Did you just flirt with my Mom??" You splutter in horror, and suddenly your vision is filled with yellow and pollen as the flowers budding from your hairline burst into bloom. You choke for a moment on black sludge as you try to clear your eyes of flower petals while you listen to them laugh, almost doubled over as they are in hilarity.

"Wait," they say suddenly, eyebrows knitting together as they straighten and shake the last of the laughter off. " _Your_ mom?"

"Uh." You clear the last of the slime from your throat as you hastily attempt to rectify your mistake. "I mean, g-good one, kid! Heh, heh," you finish weakly. Ah, yes. Nice save. You would groan at yourself, but they're listening to you carefully now. "You know there are, uh, other monsters you can flirt with, in the other rooms, up ahead. If you're ready to move on, that is." You grit your teeth and hold your breath, watching them think it over.

"No, I think I'll stay here and wait for Toriel." Damn.

"Well, it's your choice, kid." You cough. You really need to get back into the persona of the aloof ghost guide. It's never been this hard before. Though, Toriel's never brought out that phone before. And you've never actually tried to 'help' the other humans, in all honesty. Though any real drive to make humanity pay for their sins has long since burned away, you've always found it more fulfilling to bring humans back simply to watch them die. The monsters deserve freedom. Humans deserve to burn in hell. You will too, one day. Figuratively speaking. One day, when you can finally see the monsters return to take the surface back from the humans... that's the day you'll relinquish your hold on this world. When you can watch Toriel and- and the others feel the sun again, that's when you'll allow the final dregs of your determination to die out.

But this human... they have determination of their own. If (when) they die, they'll be able to return to their save point, or reset entirely, without your intervention. You're going to be in it for the long haul this time.

Maybe this will be the human who will finally make it past D- past the King. King Asgore Dreemurr, finally taken down by a human bearing determination, eh? You're not sure if you want to laugh or cry at the thought.

Honestly, you'll take neither.

"So is Toriel your Mom?" There goes Frisk again, interrupting your inner turmoil. It's becoming something of a habit of theirs.

You still don't want to talk about this. "Like I said earlier, if you live long enough, maybe you'll find out."

"That's not really an answer," they say, leaning on their stick thoughtfully.

"It's the only answer you're likely to get," you reply, truthfully.

They don't seem satisfied. "Look, Frisk. I'm not here to give you a signed copy of my autobiography, alright? I'm a guide. Nothing more. Think of me as the, the..." You wave a hand in the air, trying to find the right term. "The narrator."

They purse their lips and hum for a moment. "Why?" they finally ask.

"Wh- why?" you repeat, taken aback. You think for a minute. "That's... actually a good question." It _is_ a good question. _Why?_ You've been at it all so long you've almost forgotten. When you first awoke at the feeling of a human soul about to blink out of existence above the husk of your old body, you brought them back to life (first out of shock, really, but then...) just so you could lead their soul to your brother. That had been the pattern six times over- wake up, bring the human back to life, lead them to your brother. Of course, it had always been a pattern with a failed conclusion. Asriel- _Flowey_ couldn't coax a soul from his own father, so of course he couldn't manage to take one from a human. Still, you used to have hope. You're not certain if a single human soul would be enough for him to regain his emotions, but... well. In a way, it's your fault he doesn't have a soul anymore.

You couldn't save anyone.

Not even your own brother.

And you died trying.

And got him killed in the process.

...

No. No, you've been over this before. You told him, you screamed at him that in this world, this world controlled by humans, it's kill or be killed. He died because he was too weak to fight back.

...

Right?

You're startled from your roundabout thoughts by the sound of the phone ringing. It's, of course, Toriel. She tells Frisk she's going to be another five minutes, and then hangs up. Frisk puts the phone back into their pocket and sits on the ground. You float down a few feet to hover above the ground next to them.

"Do you know why you're a narrator?"

"Well, I..." You try to think again. "I'm... I'm just a ghost, Frisk. What else am I supposed to be?"

"I don't know. What do you want to be?"

"Uh." This kid's going to give you an existential crisis. "Well, look, Frisk, I can't be much of anything. I'm dead. My chance to be 'what I want to be' has long since passed. I'm attached to your soul, permanently. No one else down here can see or hear me, and I can't touch anything either. I exist to no one and nothing but you. You're new to the underground and I've been here longer than some of the monsters' grandparents, so what should I be if not your narrator?" You ramble through the short list of reasons you've been able to scrounge up in your few minutes of thinking.

"Well..." They drum their fingers on the ground thoughtfully. "You could be my friend!"

"Your- your friend?" you repeat, incredulous. Their friend? But- "You're a human."

"So?"

"So-" You splutter. "So how could I be friends with you? You do realise you're a threat to every monster in the underground, right?" Do they... do they not understand? "Humans are the most evil things in the world! All you do is kill, and hurt, and destroy. Your kind raise children just so they can own a person and hurt them as much as they want to without dealing with the consequences. You'll go to war until there's nothing left to fight but yourselves, and then you'll resort to killing each other. Humans have never deserved to rule the surface, so how dare you come down here expecting to make friends with the very beings we've forced underground!" You're shouting, now, and you're digging your fingers through the crumbling ground in anger as the human sits, unmoving.

"Do you think this nice act is fooling anyone?? Because you're right!! It is!! All of these monsters, they're all-" You choke again on the black bile rising in your throat. The flowers tangled in your hair are blooming and dying in equal measures and you're only getting louder. "They're all so damn gullible and trusting! Toriel would raise you like- like, like her own, without a moment's hesitation, and you're- you're just going to take advantage of them all! And I'm going to have to watch! I can't escape you, Frisk!" you yell, right into their face as they cower, now. You suddenly feel bad, you feel horrible, so you close your eyes and keep yelling. "No matter how good you think you are, or pretend to be, Frisk, you're going to get everyone hurt! No human's gone through the underground without killing anyone before, not a single damn one, so don't-" And the phone rings. You open your eyes to see Frisk slowly raising the phone to their ear, with a shaking hand.

You hear, faintly, Toriel saying something about needing more time. And something about a dog? You sit back as she hangs up. Frisk, after a moment's hesitation, stands up on shaking legs. You avert your eyes. You can hear them sniffling. You don't move until the heart tether pulls taut and you find yourself being dragged over the ground as they keep moving.

It's about three steps into the next room when they get another call from Toriel.

"... What a good child you are." You can barely hear her from your place on the ground, several feet behind Frisk. She says something about puzzles, and you nudge yourself an inch closer to hear her say "It would be dangerous to try to solve them by yourself."

After she hangs up, Frisk stands still for a moment, and then slides the phone back into their pocket. You swallow. A nearby Froggit watches them as they turn slowly towards you. You're not sure what to expect, so you- "Frisk, I-"

"Toriel said it would be dangerous for me to solve the puzzles on my own," they say with a small smile. "Good thing I'm not alone, huh?" You blink. There's another feeling, there, rising up through you like the warmth from hot chocolate. It's relief, you think. Tinged with regret at the edges. You watch them turn away as the Froggit croaks at them about mercy and fighting, and think for a moment.

You regret your sudden outburst. Very much. You regret scaring Frisk, to an extent. You regret...

Frisk wanders off, following the wall into another, smaller room. You follow, of course, and note the bowl of candy in the middle of it. They make their way to the bowl, sitting on a pedestal as it is, and you read out the sign hanging from the front.

"It says 'take one'. Take a piece of candy?"

They feel their way up the side of the bowl and scoop out a candy. You look closer.

"What is it?" they ask, feeling the wrapper in both hands.

"Monster Candy." You try to remember what it tastes like, but come up empty. "It has a distinct..." uh, "non-liquorice flavour."

"Non-liquorice?" they say, laughing. They begin to unwrap the candy and you interrupt.

"You may want to save that for later. Food down here replenishes your HP when you get hit by monsters."

"Replenishes my..."

"It heals your soul. Literally."

"Oh. So, like what happened with... Flowey." They frown, slightly, fingers still toying with the edges of the wrapper.

"Yes. In fact, you might find it beneficial to take another couple, for when you get attacked. I can only do so much with your soul, you know. You're bound to take a few hits on occasion."

They splutter. "But it said to just take one!"

"Rude. I'm here as well, you know. Do I get a piece too?"

"Oh." They shake their head to clear their thoughts and reach out again. You watch their hand advance with an eager grin. "Of course, sorry."

"You take more candy. How disgusting..." Not so above sin now, are you, human?

They laugh. "Hey! That was your piece."

"I'm dead, Frisk. I don't have an awful lot of use for candy nowadays. How inconsiderate... some living creatures might have wanted some of that, you know." Even in the smallest of ways, humans manage to show their worst side, time after time. You place your hands on their shoulders and drawl into their ear. "Although, that bowl is still rather full. A child like yourself could get hurt down here... you could always take another."

They shuffle their shoulders out from under your hold, and turn to laugh in your face. "As if! You'll just tell me I'm gross again." They stick their tongue out and make their way around you, and you leave the near-empty bowl of monster candy as it is. Never mind. You'll get them to show their true nature soon enough.


	3. HP and LV (and whether humans can feel them)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Determination is explained, save points are created, and impossible promises are made. 
> 
> Oaths sworn to demons are scarcely met with love when broken, my child. Swear and promise where you will, but it is hard to cross your fingers behind your back when they are clenched before you in determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only way I can apologise for the incredibly long wait for this new chapter is by writing more  
> unfortunately I'm really bad at apologies  
> so jus t, just fucki., gn t ake it (i'm really sorry omfg, i know people were waiting for this, but... let's just say depression sucks dicks. yeah. let's go with that)
> 
> and by the way im gonna put these kids through the emotional wringer several times over, so. look forward to that. i'll try to write a light-hearted chapter or two without some sort of existential crisis or emotional outbreak but tbh i just follow where my fingers lead me on my keyboard and these poor phalanges obv hold all my repressed emotions bc that is like. all theyre givin' me here. /coughs quietly sorry kids
> 
> (also i changed the word "kindness" to "compassion" and another synonyms to avoid confusion between the heart state and the emotion)

They wander around the edge of the room until they stumble upon a neatly-gathered pile of fallen leaves. They crush the leaves happily beneath their boots until they make their way out of the dead flora, before turning and repeating the process. You watch them jump and dance for a little while, wondering how they can manage to be so confident in their actions.

You decide to ask. "What are you doing?"

They crush one more leaf and narrowly miss another with their other foot before answering. "Playing in the leaves!"

"You're being somewhat reckless for someone who can't see what they're doing. How do you even know they're leaves? Perhaps you're walking about in a pile of bones."

They turn towards your voice, but face upwards of where your actual head is. "And 'perhaps' you're just teasing me again." They lift a foot off a crushed leaf. "I know what leaves feel like. These are definitely leaves. And I'm not being reckless because if I _was_ walking into a spike pit or something you would tell me!" They go back to seeking out leaves with their feet and you're left to stare at them.

"Well, yes." You cough. "It's not fun, having to relive things over and over. If you were to die, you would have to go all the way back to the first save point. Then I would be forced to watch Toriel pull you through the puzzles again."

"Hmmm, sorry ghost! I know you're just pretending to be mean and distant and stuff. You're so transparent- I can see right through you!" They laugh and wander around the small area of floor they had so enthusiastically kicked free of leaves.

You're pretty sure your eyebrows disappear into your hairline. "Was that a joke?" Your eyes narrow. "Was that a double joke?" 

"Yup! And the joke is you!" They frown. "Wait, no, sorry, that sounded kinda, kinda mean? I didn't mean it that way-"

"Forget it, Frisk." You fold your arms across your chest.

"-and, I mean, I'm the joke too, but-"

"Seriously, it's fine."

"- I don't want you to think I'm making fun of you or-"

"Frisk," you say, sharply. They stop. You sigh, and let your arms dangle loosely by your sides. "That was- a pretty good one."

They perk up at the praise. "Really?" They beam, and you suddenly remember what the sunrise looks like. 

Several seconds pass, and they're still awaiting a response. You try to blink away the imprints of the smile they left on your retinas. "Uh," real smooth, "yeah. I mean yes." You cough again, and they turn away. They're still smiling. You watch them swish their way through another pile of leaves, and leave the silence between you unbroken.

Until, of course, they are the one to shatter it. "So that save point... what is it? And how did I go back to it? Is it sort of like a video ga-"

You clear your throat, loudly, drowning out the sound of them about to knock, albeit politely, on the southern wall, and say, "The save points are just another ability your, well, I suppose you could say 'state of heart' allows you. You remember me telling you that your soul has the power of determination earlier?"

They hum in affirmation. "I don't really get what that means but go on," they say.

You eye them. "Yes, well, the save points are just a manifestation of that power. Determination is the very thing that allows humans to bring themselves back from the brink of death, time and time again. At least, down here, in the underground."

"Why only down here?" they ask, seeking out more leaves with their stick.

"In all honesty, I'm uncertain. After years of conjecture I've come to the conclusion that it must have been when humans used the last of their stolen magic to seal monsters underground- that concentration of magical energy in one contained, isolated place... I'm unsurprised that it has at least some impact on the human soul once it's down here." Oh. Your rambling seems to have only confused them on the matter. What a surprise. You shrug. "What I mean is that because all monsters, and therefore all of the strongest magic, is contained down here, it's concentrated enough to awaken the inherent magical aspects of the human soul itself. So on the surface, where what little magic is left will be very thinly distributed across the earth, human souls won't have as much magical ability as they do here." You realise how emphatically you're gesticulating, and lower your hands with all due self-consciousness. "At least... that's what I believe. It makes sense...?" Your voice raises to a question at the end, without your volition.

They turn to face you, and lean heavily on their stick. In that pose, they look much like an old person considering the price of bread. "Yeah? I mean, it makes sense to me, and I don't even know what you're talking about!" They smile again, kindly, and in their expression you see the sun, the moon, the stars. It's been a very long time since you have seen a fond expression akin to that, aimed at you. A very long time indeed.

You want to crawl back into your grave and never wake up.

All of this _feeling_  is exhausting. You can feel yourself fraying around the edges. You inspect your hands and find yourself instead inspecting the floor through them.

"So wait, why was that first save point there? I didn't put that there, did I?"

You fade into sudden opacity again at their question, and answer. "Actually, I did. It was the first save point I ever created. Every other human has been able to use it since then, but they've never been able to create one themselves."

"You created it?"

"Yes. When I fell."

"You fell too?"

"Yes."

"Oh." They're silent for a time, seemingly deliberating. "Is that how you died?"

"No."

"Oh." They swallow. You don't notice them subtly steering the conversation out of dangerous waters, because your mind is elsewhere. You have one foot in another time, and one foot, hovering in all its ghostly glory, several inches above the ground. That is, until they say, "But why haven't all the other humans been able to make a save point like you did?"

You blink away memories and flower pollen. "I would assume because none of their souls held the power of Determination."

Their eyebrows knit together like a particularly befuddled scarf, evidently created by someone to whom the concept of knitting does not come naturally. "But I thought all human souls were determined?"

"In a sense. There are several different states to a human soul. Yours has Determination, as mine did. The other states are Patience, Bravery, Integrity, Perseverance, Kindness, and Justice. Each has their own abilities associated with their state. You are born with that state, and it cannot be altered. A Determined soul appears to be able to physically manifest their determination into save points. Though all human souls bear the basic Determined ability of returning to life before certain death, again, down here in the underground, only Determined souls can create save points."

Their scarf'd brows sink further until they more closely resemble a shawl. "Okay, but... wait," they say, finding their words carefully, "does that mean that all humans are Determined at their, uh, core? Like, at their most base level, because they have at least some Determination if they can bring themselves back to life? Or, actually, does that mean that all souls share, like, aspects of other souls? So like if, um, Kindness has one basic thing to it, all the other soul types have the same thing? And then all the basic stuff to all the other souls are also shared to all the other souls?" They grimace. "Sorry, wait, I messed that up, that probably didn't..." They trail off. "Make sense..."

You blink. "No, no, I understand." They relax slightly. "That is actually... a good question." A very good question. Why didn't you think of that? Is Determination the most basic human state, or are the base aspects of every soul type shared amongst the others?

You're roused from your thoughts by Frisk, again, and you pay rapt attention to this apparently budding philosopher. What long-unthought of question might they bring to attention next? 

"Also, what do the monsters look like?"

Oh. Hardly the Aristotle-inspired prose you were expecting, but still. A good question warrants an answer. And this, too, though not especially thought-provoking, was a good question nonetheless. You think for a moment. "Well, I suppose you could say that Toriel looks sort of like a goat."

They burst out laughing. "A goat?"

You nod, in force of habit. "Yes." And after a moment you ask, "Do you know what goats look like?" You haven't really thought about it, but now you wonder if Frisk was born blind. Do they actually know what goats looked like?

Their laughter peeters out gently, like a candle flame smothered by fog. "Yeah, I do. I can sort of remember. They've got big floppy ears and long faces, right?" they ask, cupping their hands to either side of their face as if holding their own pair of 'big floppy ears'.

You laugh, slightly, more a huff of stale breath than anything else. "Yes, though Toriel is somewhat more humanoid than a goat." You deliberate for a moment. "Her fur is white. She's very tall, and she has paws instead of hooves. Her irises are red, and she wears a set of purple robes with white sleeves, with the Delta Rune on the front. She keeps her claws clipped short, so they're blunt, and she has two small fangs that curve over her bottom lip. She also has a small pair of horns growing out just above the base of her ears." You hesitate. "She's- warm." Your voice cracks. Embarassing. But Frisk doesn't laugh at you for it.

"Yeah, she felt warm. She's nice! I'm glad she's here. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't stopped Flowey, from... doing whatever they were about to do." They frown again, and you feel guilt wrapping around your ribs like ivy. "But I guess I still had you, too! So I would've been okay." The vines tighten. You fancy that you can hear bones cracking. "Oh, and, thanks, for telling me what she looks like. It's nice to know. Wait, what does Flowey look like?"

You want to cough until you hack up the leaves. "Flowey's a flower. He's- he's a-" Your voice wavers, and you clear your throat. "He's a golden flower, like the ones that broke your fall."

"Oh. Wait, are all the flowers like him?" They look somewhat disgruntled. At least their forehead no longer resembles the test swatches of a novice knitter.

"No," you say, "it's just him. All the others are- normal flowers."

"So is he a monster too, then?" they begin to ask, and while they're walking you nonchalantly guide them directly into a Whimsun.

"Whoops!"

"Oh, wait, is someone fighting with me again?" they ask.

"How could you tell?" you ask, innocent as the day you were born. Or rather, moreso.

"Can't you hear the music?" Music? "But wait, who is it this time?"

You forget about the music comment for the time being. "You're fighting a Whimsun."

"Oh." They face the creature. "Um, wait, what's a Whimsum?" they whisper to you, awkwardly. The Whimsun doesn't hear them, anyway.

"It looks sort of like a ghost, but with wings." You watch Frisk's expression. "This monster is too sensitive to fight..." you say. You wait for them to smile, and attack, but...

"Oh. Is it okay?"

You make a face. "I don't know, ask them yourself."

All you manage to observe is Frisk looking... concerned, really. You roll your eyes as they try to speak with it, and it absconds. "Halfway through your first word, Whimsun bursts into tears and runs away."

They look aghast. "Oh, no! I didn't mean to make them cry..."

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure crying is a Whimsun's default state." They face you, looking somewhat disgruntled. "Anyway, what was that you were saying about music?"

"Oh, you... you really can't hear it? There's like, some music that plays in the background when someone's fighting me. Also it plays when Toriel talks to me." They look down and fiddle with their stick. "To be honest, I thought you were playing it."

You snort. "Why would I be playing music?"

"I dunno?" they respond, defensively. "You must've been kinda bored, before I was here. I figured, after all that time you spent alone, maybe you just wanted to do some silly stuff now that you've got someone who can hear you and stuff?" They lower their stick to the ground again, and continue, seeming almost... sad. "But I guess, after what you said before... about humans... maybe it was dumb of me to think you wanted to make me happy, or, or something, by playing music. Sorry."

In the silence that follows, you try to think of a response. But nothing comes.

"And... um, what you said... about... how humans are all evil, and, well, yeah, I mean- I, uh, I just-" 

"What about it?"

"Well, I, um, it's just..." They sigh. "Do you really think that I'm evil? Just because I'm- human?"

"Yes." Your response is immediate.

They think for a little while. You don't. Your mind is carefully blank. "Why?"

You don't need to think about your answer. "Because humans have proven, time and time again, that they will do anything to get what they want. They will kill for freedom. They will kill for sport. They kill, steal, lie, for everything. Anything. Every advantage. Every gain. They act in anger, in spite, in fear. In curiosity. When presented with a choice, they will take the easiest option, or the worst. Humans have demons in their hearts," you say, "and as they grow older, it grows stronger. There is no good side to a human. There is no good. They are terrible, from all sides.

"Humans who fall down here destroy the only place on Earth where I have ever seen peace." You are treading lightly, now, attempting to avoid a repeat of your earlier outburst. Keep it factual, not emotional. Facts, not emotions. Focus. "Even the best human can be driven to do the worst things. You are no exception, Frisk. Deciding against taking extra candy doesn't make you a saint. It won't save your soul. You might as well quit the cutesy act while you're ahead, if you want to live." You look away. "Being nice gets you killed, wherever you go."

There is silence for a time. Then- "That's stupid."

You blink at them. "What?"

"That's stupid!" they yell. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" They bang their stick on the ground, so hard it cracks up the side. "That's so, so... so, morbid! And sad! Do you like, even know what you're saying? You're just going around in circles! You're all like, 'humans are evil' then when I'm not, you're like 'be evil, Frisk! Just be evil because you're human!!' Well, ghost, I'm not evil! And, um, I don't think you are, either? And you, you, you sound like a kid to me! So even if you're dead, I think you just, need to, um, like- not be so negative? Um. You're really nice, even if you keep trying to make me 'give in to my evil side' or whatever, I guess. And about all that, uh, that killing stuff? Um, I don't think everything's about, um, like, life and death all the time? Because like, even though you're dead, you're still here? And I'm sorry you're dead? And I'm sorry that humans have done a lot of bad stuff, and, I think they might have done some really bad stuff to you to make you think all this, but, I mean... I don't think you should really judge every person just because they're born human? Like I've known a lot of bad people, but I've known a lot of good people too? And I think that's sort of just how people are, you know? Like some are nice and some are mean and some are sorta good and others are kinda bad but I don't think all the good nice people should be called evil because that just makes you mean-" They pause to inhale deeply. They... they said that all in one breath? 

"And being nice doesn't get you killed, it makes everyone else happy because you're being nice to them! Uh, and, maybe, maybe you just need someone to be nice to you? And I'm sorry they haven't been! But maybe it's because you're expecting them all to be horrible and evil and stuff, so you're ignoring all the not-bad stuff they do? Um, I- uh..."

You stare at them. They become uncomfortable as the silence draws on. You don't know how to end it. Correction: you know exactly how to end it. You know exactly what to say. You know what you would like very much to say.

But perhaps not to them.

Eventually, they grow uncomfortable enough as to worry that you're gone, and ask, "Um, ghost...? Are you... still there?"

"I _have_ felt acts of compassion, Frisk." You startle them when you finally break the silence. "And those who have shown it to me have had their hearts shattered and broken and dismantled, as thoroughly as if I were to take them apart with a knife myself. Love-" Not LV. "It makes you weak. The one I cared about most died because of it."

You float down to hover in front of them, rotted shoes that fade in and out of existence like the shimmer of steam making no noise as they skim the ground in your approximation of standing. 

"Being nice gets you killed. I know this to be true. Do not argue with me on this, Frisk. You will lose." You hover inches away from them at this point, biting words through your teeth like cracking ice shards beneath your molars. "Being _nice_? Being nice to _me_? Nothing good has ever come from that. I toppled a kingdom because someone was nice to me. Nothing has ever been gained from being nice. Only lost. And they lost all they had. So do not pretend to know anything of compassion, or hope, or love. It's all lies."

You look away. "Humans can't feel any of those things."

 

"You're wrong."

"What?" You look at them. Their jaw is clenched in a hard line, eyebrows scrunched to meet across an angry sea of crinkles. Their shoulders are set as if they are holding a great weight, but... no. All they are holding is their stick, hard with both hands.

"You're wrong, about that. If we can't feel compassion, or hope, or love, then what's the _point_? Why would we even go on without feeling the stuff that makes us happy?" Their mouth twists, angry- sad? across their face. "You're wrong. And I'm going to prove it."

"How?" Your voice is devoid of inflection, but you hear only crystal certainty in theirs as they continue.

"I don't know, but-" Wait. "I know I can change your mind. I know there's more to life and, and stuff, and everything, than just death and evil and meanness. Hope and love and compassion- of course we can feel it!" Something is happening. "And I'll prove it to you! I'll prove that you can love stuff, and that being nice doesn't make you weak." There is a light in the room. "The kindest people I've ever known... they were the strongest!" Shadows flit and flicker across the walls, and play like demons behind your eyelids. "Because... sometimes it's hard! It's hard to love and be loved when there... well- you're right, there is a lot of bad stuff in the world. But it's impossible to get rid of it if you just embrace it and accept it!" There is warmth. "And that's why it's really important to remember that there's stuff worth loving in the world!" It is emanating from their chest. "There's a reason to live, ghost! Even if you aren't alive! Because... because... if you're loving, you're alive! As long as your heart is working, it doesn't matter that it's not beating! There's always hope for a future-" It is coming from their soul. "And I'll prove it- I... I promise!!!" They finish with a flourish, and you watch a golden star emerge from their heart.

It is a save point.

 

You guess they really are filled with Determination.


	4. Childish Banter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daaaamn frisk back at it with the endless positivity and unbridled hope
> 
>  
> 
> here's your daily reminder that these kids are very capable of being childish as heck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short short short horrifically silly chapter! i just wanted to get them out of that room for the next one lmao, and i got to that last bit and it felt like the time was right to end it.
> 
> i swear, i sit down and these things write themselves gdi- did not expect it to be this silly.
> 
> and u h, sorry for the wait. i /should/ be uploading them more often from now on... but didn't i say that last time? i'm sure i've said that somewhere before, anyway.
> 
> chara acts like such a drama queen i s2g but i mean. i guess they deserve that right. even their internal monologue is so melodramatic tennessee williams wouldnt play poker with it on either end of a really long dining room table tbh

Frisk runs quizzical fingers over the indistinct edges of the save point, and cocks their head to the side. "Did I... did I just-"

"Playfully crinkling through the leaves fills you with determination," you murmur, thoughtfully. You stare blankly at the roof of the cavern. Your mind is humming.

"I made a save point?"

"I do vaguely recall telling you that was something you were capable of."

"You-" they hesitate. "Yeah, actually, I guess you did? I just-"

"It felt strange, didn't it?" you ask. It's been so long, but you can never quite forget what it felt like.

"It... it felt like..." they trail off, fidgeting with their battered stick, expression thoughtful.

You exhale slowly. "Like you could make all of your hopes and dreams come true?"

They perk up. "Yeah! Just like that. Like a bunch of great feelings kind of exploding in me. Wow!" They actually say 'wow', in a hushed voice like they were speaking a secret they wanted the universe to hear.

"And like there's a future, just waiting for you?" you mutter. "Tangible at your fingertips. Like waiting for the tide to come in to wash the sand from your hands. Inevitable. As if all you have to do to forge your own path... is to want it badly enough." The ragged, carved purple of the ceiling is distant and fuzzy to your eyes. What you see lies far beyond your reach. You don't even bother to try.

"Well- yeah. Yes. Like... like I can do what's right. Like... like my past won't stop me." You think they're looking at you now, facing you, listening carefully. You keep still, as if they can see you. As if they can see right through you. You close your eyes, and sigh. They keep talking. You can hear them speaking distantly, and fancy that beneath the sound of their voice, you can hear gears turning in their head. "Like... the things I've done... and the choices I regret making... it's like... I could... could make up for them? And like I could... I could fix everything. I could do what was right, and what was- kind." They stop. You think they're waiting for you to speak. When you don't, they continue. "Like... I'm strong enough to... to be even better than I ever thought I could be. You know?" They hesitate. The gears grind to a halt.

You open your eyes only to roll them. As if you're going to give them a response to that. "Yeah, sure. So are you planning to save, or do you enjoy listing eclectic optimistic sentiments in an attempt to elicit some sort of emotional response from your long-dead, long-suffering guide dog?"

Frisk's eyebrows immerse themselves in their overgrown bangs with an offended energy you can begrudgingly admire in facial hair. "Wow, what?" This time the only secret they seem to want the universe to hear is that their incredulity truly knows no bounds when met with a pessimistic opponent. Though, you prefer to think of yourself as realistic.

Asriel used to tease you for that.

"What? Did you think we were having a moment of spiritual kinship there?" You raise your own brow, in the knowledge that you'll never match the feat of Frisk's eyebrows reaching terminal velocity but still deeming the attempt worth it. "Frisk, I told you. You can't teach a dead dog old tricks. I'm not going to kowtow to your whimsical fantasy of peace in humanity. Creating a save point is a nice feeling, but it's misleading. Isn't it just incredible that humans can even corrupt magic to the point where it makes them feel as though they can warp reality?" They attempt to speak, and you, _uncharacteristically_ , cut them off by blowing a sudden, impulsive raspberry into the air. You honestly don't feel like dealing with a happy-go-lucky, delusional child all the way through the underground until their untimely death if they're going to continue to spout meaningless nonsense at you. If that means you have to sink to the use of incredibly immature methods in order to silence them, so be it.

This is the last soul Asgore claims to require, anyway.

After this, you won't have to deal with humans ever again. For which you're grateful. This is about as much 'human' as you can handle at this point in your death.

You watch Frisk, waiting patiently for that moment of irritation to creep its way onto their face. That moment where the seed of hatred is first planted, and fed, and watered. You know it's coming. Someone cutting you off which such a childish action would certainly irk you to the point of anger. You can see it... the way their lips are curling, just slightly, into a...

A huge, beaming grin. Oh god. Not again.

They burst into sudden laughter, and it tinkles like bells tolling, and birds singing, and their clouded eyes sparkle and their face lights up and it reminds you of...

"Did you just go-" They mimic your recent, and even more recently regretted, raspberry. "-At me??" They laugh in delight. "You're so totally a kid! How old even are you?" They bend at the waist and hold their stomach as they cackle. "You're like... probably my age right? Oh my gosh I bet you're even younger, hahahahaha!!" They crouch to the floor, suddenly, and thrust out a hand to brush the surface of the ground in front of them. As they find their path clear, they slide down, holding back tears and smacking a fist on the floor, blowing raspberries as they go.

You've seen enough. You fold your arms across your chest and purse your lips. "I really think-" They blow another raspberry over your voice. Wow. Really?

You try again. "It wasn't that funny-" Another raspberry. They blow raspberries until they run out of breath and wheeze into stomach-cramping laughter. You watch them writhe in a puddle of their own hilarity-induced tears on the ground.

"You're getting dirt on your clothes, you realise," you say impatiently, at a loss. Gross. Who knows what sorts of monsters have been rolling themselves over the ground where Frisk is lying. Moldsmols are literally slime-based life forms, and Toriel can only do so much cleaning to combat the ever-growing number of spider webs (from the spiders), and dust (from the fallen), and leaves (from that one evernone tree) that litter the ground.

You watch them slowly rise from the floor, still shaking with laughter, and miss the ability to tap your foot on the ground. The most you can do to indicate impatience is fold your arms, and Frisk can't even hear that. "You done?" you ask.

They hold up a finger as they catch their breath. They then proceed to wipe a tear from their face with it. You glare at them. "Ahahaha, hahah, ha..." They take another moment of your time to pull themself together. "Okay, okay, I'm..." They giggle again, before stopping. "I'm done."

When you don't respond, they grin again, and you have to look away. "No, totally done this time. Promise. Pinky swear."

That brings you back. "'Pinky swear'? Do kids still do that?" It's been so long; you're surprised that such a ceremony still exists.

"Uh, duh!" They chuckle, still suffering the aftermaths of their recent attack. "How else are we s'posed to make unbreakable deals?" they ask, waggling their fingers in your general direction to add a spooky air to the 'unbreakable deals' part.

You shrug, one brow raised. "I just didn't think that particular ritual was still a thing children would do." Old rites die hard, you suppose.

"Um, no?" They hesitate, before holding out their fist with the pinky extended. "Look, I can prove it!"

You watch them, bemused. "I believe you. You really, really don't need to provide proof."

They hum in consideration. "I think I do," they say, suddenly solemn. You have to admit, their sudden change in demeanour has you intrigued. "Pinky swear."

You dip lower in the air, towards them, and eye your semi-transparent hands. "I'm not even sure if you can-"

"I can _totally_ touch you! Come on!" They tuck an arm behind their back and hold their stick rigidly, straight as their spine. They quirk a sudden grin at you, breaking their military facade, and the ice melts. You hover in front of them and match your pinky to theirs, hesitantly. The last person you can really remember touching was Toriel, when she carried your body through the underground to bury your body in its current, and final, resting place. And even that was felt through the indistinct haze of death.

You guess the last person you touched on purpose, living and breathing and dying, with your own body, was your brother.

"I don't even know what you're promising," you say.

They link their finger with yours, holding you carefully lest it phases through. Their hand is warm against yours. It feels nice. Though- weird, in all honesty. You're not touching their _body_ so much as their soul, pressing itself outwards like a cloud beneath their skin. How interesting that when removed from the body, a soul manifests itself into a heart - but when left alone, fills the space like gas dispersing in a sealed container.

You suppose that's all bodies are. Soul containers.

You think briefly of Flowey.

Frisk speaks. "I'm promising that I'll prove to you that humans can be good." You snort in derision. 

"Oh, as if, Frisk." You attempt to pull away, but they hold you firmly, and you find yourself unable to move. 

"I mean it! And I'll prove to you that all that stuff you felt when you made that save point wasn't 'misleading' or whatever." They smile, suddenly, and their expression is wistful and reminds you of the moon. Slow and steady, rising and falling. The only bright thing in the darkness. "You're sad, aren't you, ghost? Really sad. And angry. I'm... I'm really sorry about that." They really are not letting your damn finger go. "I promise that I'll... make you happy again. Okay? Or- if not that, I promise that... I'll show you that you can be. That you... that you deserve to be. Okay?"

"Frisk-" 

They release you, finally, and you find yourself still holding out your hand. You jerk it back and brush it down the front of your shirt, backpedalling away from them. Once at a safe distance, you sigh, and run your hands through your hair in an ingrained attempt to neaten what you're sure is a veritable bird's nest of dead flowers and dirt. You decide that, for the moment, begrudging acquiescence is your best choice of action here. If there's one thing you know about Frisk, it's that they're entirely incorrigible. You contemplate outward refusal, but...

"Fine. Sure."

"Really?" Their face lights up again. Uugghhh. "Great! Haha, I totally got you now! Binding contract!"

You grip the hair at the nape of your neck in one fist. "Why not. Whatever floats your goa- boat, Frisk. Now, can we just... move on, already? I think we've spent enough time in this room." At least a chapter and a half, by now.

"Oh, right!" They heft their stick in their hands. "Let's get going!"

You give them directions to the door once they have their hand on the wall, and as they make their way around the room, they ask, "So were you going to say 'goat' instead of 'boat' just then?"

 

You just wish they could see your scary face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chara's surprisingly bad at keeping up with chapter numbers, just saying.
> 
> also, please take a moment out of your busy day to imagine asriel trying to blow a raspberry. like just. please. the goat son. chara looking incredibly amused in the background. toriel realising that chara is a terrible influence on her son. oh god


	5. Language Barriers Set Us All Back As a Species (by about two rooms)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> practise safe time travel - always keep a friend by your side!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alt chapter titles: head over heels / falling for you / any variation on that particular joke
> 
> anyway, yes! hello!!! who expected to wait another month or five for another update lmao (dear god ive disappointed you, havent i) bUT nope! less (maybe more) than (two) week(s) since the last update! arent you proud
> 
> have some more kids being melodramatic dorks
> 
> (and welcome back my 3 am updates, hopefully i dont wake up tomorrow and regret having sinful fingers that write ridiculous things)

In the next room Frisk encounters their first puzzle. You... fail to notice. In a momentary lapse in concentration, you don't see the crumbling floor until Frisk, and yourself, are falling through it.

They let out a scream as the ground gives way beneath their feet and they tumble head over heels, the rope between your hearts going taut for only a second before you realise they're falling and reach for them through the chaos. You grab at their hand, sudden fear turning you opaque and solid, soul real on theirs. You wrench them towards you in the air in a panic and slow your joint descent to a gentle spiral downwards. They claw their hands into the fabric of your shirt desperately, and you hold onto them tighter in return.

You land on your feet but forget your intangibility and begin sinking through the dead leaves on the ground, so you rearrange yourself hastily and hover scant inches above them in front of Frisk. You pull back to see if they're okay, noting the dirt clumps and dust but otherwise unharmful additions to their already messy face and shoulders.

Their breathing is heavy and their expression scared. Their eyes are wide open and staring blankly through you, and they stammer, "Wha-what happen-happened?"

You look up and cast a slow, baleful eye over the roots that cling across the ceiling and clump the loose dirt together, craggy formations hanging like stalactites above you. You can see the roots already slowly weaving back together and magically retrieving the misplaced soil, repairing the large, Frisk-sized hole in the ground. Soon, there won't be a single sign that you ever fell here.

"A falling puzzle," you say. "My apologies for not realising sooner." You really should have remembered from the last six times you've walked a human over that ground.

"A-a what?"

You explain the puzzle to them, describing the two vents above on either side of the crumbling dirt, and the matching doors below. As you speak, you notice the grip they have on your shirt softening as they relax. Then, of course, halfway through your sentence you realise how close you're standing to them; how near their face is to yours. They're inches away, face set in rapt attention as you paint a picture with words for that they cannot see. You find yourself looking at them properly, close to them for the first time. It's almost like looking into a mirror, except- not. Their skin, beneath the dirt, is several shades darker than yours and clear, lacking freckles. Their eyes, open now as they are, are lidded where yours are wide, though you both share dark circles beneath. Their face is also rounder than yours, but their nose, though softer around the edges than your own, appears crooked. It seems as though it may have been broken at one point, and you feel quiet empathy. A broken nose is an unpleasant thing, as you would know well.

It's about when you realise that they have the longest eyelashes you've ever seen that you also realise you've been staring at them for far too long. Not that they would know, really, but still. And your arms, in the flurry of motion on the way down, have ended up clasped about their waist in the closest approximation of a hug you've had since the end of your life. Far too close for comfort now that they're no longer in danger of falling to their death, again. You perform the verbal version of an inelegant stumble, and let go of them before stepping away quickly to a more respectable distance.

You brush down the wrinkles on the front of your shirt from where Frisk had been holding it, and question the fact that they could somehow actually do that. Then you decide to file that thought away for later contemplation, because you're a bit busy guiding someone through puzzles they can't see to be wondering how they can hold on to your ghostly sweater. Because, really. You understand why they would be able to touch your skin, but not your clothes. Did your clothes die with you? Is your soul just remembering the imprint of the clothes your body had when you died? And you were entombed wrapped in bandages- where have they gone? And- no. No. Later. For now, you need to concentrate and remember the solutions to the puzzles Frisk has yet to face.

You watch them brush the larger clumps of dirt from their clothes and notice that you didn't, of course, leave a single crease in their sweater to indicate that your presence had ever been there. You had your arms wrapped around their soul directly, not their physical body, and realising that makes you feel slightly more uncomfortable than before. Didn't they feel vulnerable like that? The thought makes you shiver, and you fold your arms across your chest. Their soul is- well, still the shape of them, lying just beneath their skin, so it's like you're touching them, but... not. Ugh. You scarcely liked having your soul out of your chest during fights, let alone having a ghost touch your very essence when it was in your body. _(Which is funny, because you spent several agonizing hours-days-weeks slowly poisoning yourself just so that someone else could absorb it, hahahahah!)_

And of course, controlling their body was different still to touching their actual soul. They just, however unconsciously, moved their soul out of the way for you to take control of their arm, or body, or what-have-you. Frisk probably didn't quite understand the significance of earlier, when they let you control their arm to retrieve that stick of theirs.  
Although, briefly, you wonder what it would be like to take control of their entire body. You would assume that their soul would retreat into its more solid, concentrated heart form in the middle of their chest, and you would simply slide into place and override their control. Your soul, in all honestly, lacks solidity. Your life essence is scattered; a weak negative correlation following the trend line of the body it remembers having. So, likely, you would be able to take complete control of their body and simply... sit your heart over theirs. A full soul, and a hollow husk. It would work. Only, of course, if they were to give you control. Whether they would willingly give it to you, or lose focus for one reason or another (whether LOV-related or otherwise)... well. Either way would work.

What a horrifying, haunting thought.

Why did you just think that? Why would you think that. Why would you think that about Frisk? You realise that you're chewing your nails to the quick again, and stop. You aren't sure if you realise it when you trade one bad habit for another as your other hand immediately goes to tug at the roots of your hair, painfully. You curl both traitorous hands into fists and tuck them back under your arms, folded across your chest, and ignore the past three minutes of your existence.

After letting them gather themself for another moment, you guide Frisk to the doorway, and as they touch it they (and you) are warped back up to the surface, just in front of the vent on the other side of the crumbling ground. Good.

"Hey, so," they begin. You groan inwardly. That's their cheery, 'I'm going to ask some awkwardly personal questions right now!' voice. "How did I, um, not... how did we not fall down so fast back there? It felt like-like I was going to hit the ground really hard for a minute." They laugh, nervously, a forced sound. "It was kinda, heh, scary." You watch them worry the thick, ragged fabric of their sweater with their hands.

Yes, you could imagine that pitching forward into a potentially unending abyss with no ability to gauge how deep the hole is or why you're falling could be ' _kinda scary_ '. If not _absolutely terrifying._

You swallow quietly, and wonder what that thick feeling at the back of your tongue is. It blooms from your centre like a thistle plant, and you think you know why it's so familiar. You can remember the last few moments of your life best, after all.  
Guilt. It's guilt. Obviously. Why does it feel so horrible?

You grit your teeth, and remember that they're silently awaiting an answer.

"I..." How best to explain this? "I stopped you from falling. Sort of. Mostly. As much as I could, anyway." Well that's one way to not best explain this.

"D'you mean when you hugged me?"

You stare at their gleefully innocent expression. "That was not a hug. I was saving you from a potentially fatal fall. You're welcome."

"So it WAS when you hugged me. Oh, okay!" They turn, touch the wall, and you catch a glimpse of the wide grin on their face as they start walking. 

Before you can correct their horrifically inaccurate and somewhat offensive assumption, they continue. "But I guess you can't actually fly me anywhere, huh."

"Well- no. I slowed your descent."

"Oh. Well, now I know what happened, that was actually kinda fun! Can we do it aga-"

"We are not doing it again."

They're silent for a few moments. Then they giggle slightly, and you watch them suspiciously. They turn and blow a raspberry at you. You have never been so offended in your entire death. Except maybe earlier, when they did exactly the same thing.

"You're such a party pooper."

"Frisk, I don't even know how to respond to that."

 

Thankfully, just before they make it to the next room, a Froggit wanders into their path and triggers a battle.

"Oh- am I 'fighting' someone again?" Frisk asks, actually physically doing the bunny-ears quotation-marks thing as they say 'fighting'. You wonder how much human society has changed since your time. Evidently, not that much. 

You watch them rub their chest, obviously wondering why it suddenly feels empty.

"Yes," you say, watching them pull their long-forgotten stick out from somewhere to fidget with it.

"Who is it? Another... whim...sum?" they ask. "Whinsum. Whumson? Whe-"

"Whimsun," you say, shaking your head. "And no, this time it's a Froggit."

"Oh. Wait, I've met one of these before, right? A Froggit..." They trail off thoughtfully. "These monsters have really funny names. Who's naming them?" they ask, taking you by surprise.

You blink, and say, "I'm uncertain. I believe most of them named themselves?" You think back to the monster history lessons Toriel taught you. "Yes, I believe so."

They hum for a moment. You watch the Froggit waiting patiently. 

"So does the Froggit look like a frog? Because it sounds like one," they say. "Is that why they're called Froggits?"

"Perhaps frogs are called frogs because of Froggits," you suggest. "And yes, they do look like frogs." Sort of. If frogs had eyes on their underbellies and stood at two feet tall.

They hum again, a cheery little tune that sounds so familiar, yet skitters away from your memory when you try to place it. It would probably go well accompanied by piano.

"So... what should I do now? Didn't the last one just... leave on its own?" they ask.

"That was only because Toriel glared at it. This time, you can actually act by yourself. You could also attack this one."

"What? No!" they splutter at you. 

"Fine. You could threaten it, instead."

"These are all really bad suggestions! Can I just be nice to it?"

"Well, I suppose you could- compliment it?" you say, momentarily fumbling for straws. Your pacifist skills are rusty. "Oh, but wait-"

"Your ribbits sound very cute," Frisk says to it, before you can interrupt. It croaks at them.

You sigh. "Froggit didn't understand what you said, but was flattered anyway."

They turn to you. "It didn't understand?"

"They don't speak English," you explain. "They speak Froggit." Which is why it hasn't questioned the apparent existence of Frisk's imaginary friend. You think you need to have a word with them about being more discreet in the future. It might get awkward trying to excuse their inclination towards having half a conversation with themself to other monsters.

"Ohhhh," they say, evidently having experienced an epiphany. "Um, wait, so how did you know it was flattered?" they ask you.

"Because I speak Froggit," you say, impatient. 

"Oh, wow! Really?"

"Yes. Also, it was blushing."

"Oh. Wow!" They grin suddenly, and turn back to the Froggit. "So what do I do now? Should I just... walk away, or um, something?"

"Well, actually..." You aren't looking forward to this. "That Froggit, in triggering a battle with you, pulled your soul out of your chest and is about to attack it."

Frisk freezes. "Like... like Flowey?" they whisper. They appear to be terrified. "But- why?"

"No," you say, "not like Flowey. Flowey..." you stop, unsure of how to continue. "In this case, you are able to defend yourself by dodging the Froggit's attacks. Or, rather, I'm going to have to dodge them for you. Which means I'm going to have to manually move your soul out of danger."

Frisk unfreezes. "Oh, okay!"

You stare at them. Seriously? "You mean to say that you're alright with me controlling your soul?"

"Um," they murmur, "yes...? Yes? I... Um. Yes? I'm okay with that. Is that a, um, a bad thing?"

You hesitate. "Not necessarily."

"Then... when is it going to attack me?"

"Whenever you're ready. These lower-level monsters are typically very polite in that regard."

"Oh. Okay! Then I'm ready. If- if you're ready, I mean?"

You sigh. You eye their soul, hovering between them and the Froggit, and the ethereal red rope connecting you to it. You attempt to move it, shoving your will through the rope and coercing it to move like another limb, and find that your attempt results in the immediate execution of an attack by the Froggit. Of course. Magical white flies dart towards Frisk's heart and you dance it away from them, moving jaggedly to evade the more aggressive attacks. The flies are actually sort of vicious, but you avoid them easily. You'd forgotten how almost... fun, this could be. Fun, if you happen to ignore the fact that any magic-to-soul contact would result in Frisk's harm.

Which, honestly, you don't understand the significance of. Why are you doing this? Why are you helping them? Them, just another human, delusional and ill-informed, poisoned by hope and defiance and thinking they could ever be better than their species. You were like that once. So why, now, do you find yourself caring about the wellbeing of one human? They're not your responsibility. Except now, they are. Perhaps it would have been best to keep your snarky mouth shut from the beginning.

They would have already been dead again by now and then you wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore.

And suddenly, the fight is over. And you begin to feel guilt climbing steadily up the back of your throat again.

"Hey, what was that buzzing noise?" Frisk breaks into your increasingly terrible thoughts for the first time in a little while, but probably not for the last time in your near future.

"Flies." You take a deep breath and rub your eyes, suddenly tired. You have no idea how. You're not even sure if this is tiredness, as such. Can ghosts get tired?

"Flies? Oh. Wait, is the fight over?" they ask.

"The Froggit's half of the battle is. It's finished attacking now. It is currently your turn."

"Oh. So, now do I just... walk away?"

"You don't..." They don't want to fight back? Even after it attacked them? Well, they certainly are committed to repressing their humanity. Whatever. "You could end the battle by sparing it."

"Oh. Okay. I want to do that then, please," they say, nodding firmly.

You shrug in bemused acquiescence. "By stating that you want to spare it, you already have."

As the Froggit wanders away, it leaves some gold coins behind in a charitable action you know many monsters are wont to carry out. You're unsurprised. Frisk does look as though they've been dragged through the mud by someone who saw fit to turn and drag them back for another few rounds.

They cock their head to the side. "What was that jangly noise?" they ask.

"The Froggit left you some money. You got zero EXP and two gold."

"Oh, what? It gave me money? But- why?" They turn back to where the Froggit had last been standing. Crouching. Sitting? "Um, excuse me, um, do you want your, uh- gold back?"

"It's already gone, Frisk," you say. "It wouldn't want the money back, anyway. I recommend keeping it in case you need to buy something later."

"Like what?"

"Like food. Two monster candies won't last you for very long, you know." Not that you're doubting your own ability to keep Frisk's soul out of danger; you just know that their harm is inevitable. 

"Oh. That's a good idea! Where do you buy food down here?"

"Here? I'm not certain. If we continue, we'll eventually find some place that sells it. And I'm sure Toriel will be more than hospitable once we get..." You fumble with your words, realising that you were about to say 'once we get home'. "Once we get to her house at the end of the ruins."

They continue through the door and go back to humming, and once again you find yourself unable to place the tune. Before you can comment, however, the phone rings, and they scramble to retrieve it from their pocket.

It's Toriel, of course. You move closer to overhear what she says. 

"Hello? This is Toriel. For no reason in particular... which do you prefer? Cinnamon or butterscotch?"

You raise a brow at the phone. What, really? You actually aren't surprised in the slightest. She does this every time. A cinnamon-and-butterscotch pie for every new human who falls down here.

What surprises you is how she can still bear to make them. After all, every child who has ever eaten one of her pies has died horrifically. Typically screaming in agony.

Still. You suppose she doesn't often get the chance to entertain guests.

"Well?" you ask. "Which one? Cinnamon or b-scotch?"

"B-scotch?" they ask you, clearly amused by your culinary abbreviation.

Of course, Toriel overhears. "Oh, I see. Thank you very much!"

The phone goes silent after a click. Frisk seems surprised. Then they laugh. "Oh, whoops!"

"Good choice," you say, floating away from them. Asriel always chose cinnamon.

"I didn't mean-" They laugh again. "Okay, m-maybe I should stop talking to you so loudly when other people are listening."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

They move their stick back ahead of them, and continue walking. They get about three steps further into the room when the phone rings again.

"Hello! This is Toriel. You do not dislike cinnamon, do you? I know what your preference is, but... would you turn up your nose if you found it on your plate?"

"No, no, I like cinnamon," they say, with conviction.

"Right, right, I understand. Thank you for being patient, by the way." Click...

Suddenly, Frisk looks guilt-stricken. "Do you think I should go back to the room and wait?" they ask. "She thinks I'm still there."

You shrug. "You've already come this far. Still, up to you."

"Hmm..." they spend a moment in quiet contemplation. "Hey, that Froggit that was outside the door earlier, was it saying something to me? I thought it was just going making frog noises at me."

You probably should have considered the language barriers earlier. "Yes, something about advice for battling monsters, I believe." You can't really remember. You weren't exactly paying attention.

"Do you think we could go back to see it? That sounds kinda important."

"You really want to go all the way back there?" Well, it was only about two rooms ago, but you're not going to make progress if the two of you continue to retrace your steps.

"It's only two rooms back!" They laugh at you. "Oh!!!" They bounce up and down again, clutching their stick with excited hands. "What if I just load that save point? That'll take me back to that room, right?"

"Well, yes, but-" But what? You acquiesce. "Sure. Do as you wish."

They stop bouncing. "But... how do I do it?"

"You've already loaded a save point once," you point out. "After you killed that Frog-"

"Yeah, yeah yeah," they stammer. They look guilty, and sad. You feel almost bad for reminding them. "I know, I know. But I don't know how I did that? It just... happened."

"Because you were panicking."

"The dust, it... I hate that feeling. All scratchy and- just, ugh," they start rubbing at their arms half-heartedly, clearly uncomfortable. "Makes my skin crawl."

You clear your throat. "Well, anyway, I'm afraid I can't be of more help. I never loaded my save file, personally. As far as I understand it, to load a save point, you have to... give up."

They cock their head to the side. "Give up?"

"Yes. Well, give up or die. Same thing, ultimately. Just make sure you stay determined enough to come back."

Oh, there go their eyebrows again. Performing their world-renowned magic trick of 'Here Today, Gone Tomorrow (Did We Say Tomorrow? We Meant Also Today)' with their lovely assistant, Frisk's overgrown bangs. 

"What? Really? But..."

"I suppose when you were stressed out by the dust, your mind gave up and reverted to the time before you killed that Froggit. That forced a reload. Although I can imagine that you're somewhat reluctant to repeat those particular events." For whatever reason. Sensory stuff, you suppose. "Perhaps you could just... stop wanting to continue?" You're scrabbling in the dirt for gold coins, and making do with copper. "Any action, or, lack of action, that you could interpret as 'giving up' would probably work?"

They bounce on the balls of their feet and play with their stick, obviously deep in contemplation. 

"Barring that, you could die."

They grimace at you, and you snort. "It's not that bad, believe me. If anyone should know, it's me."

"But I don't wanna die. I just want to talk to a frog about fighting monsters!"

"So figure it out, Frisk, or move on. There will be more Froggits to talk to later on. Your whole world doesn't hinge on that one monster."

"But- but if, if I figure out how to reload now, I can always have the chance to change my mind if I make a mistake!"

You eye them. "That sort of thinking can lead you down a dangerous road, Frisk."

"Huh?" They turn towards you. "What do you mean?"

You sigh. You bring your legs up to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce in the air, and place your hands on your knees. Storytime. 'Well, say you encounter the incredibly unlikely event of making a friend down here. In conversation, you say something without thinking. They get hurt. You reload in a panic, and re-do the conversation, avoiding the one sentence that hurt them. It's a happy ending for all! Except, you get curious. If you can just reload and start all over again, how many different reactions can you get? How hard can you make them laugh? How hard can you make them cry? In the end, they're little more than entertainment for you. You reload a hundred different times and do a hundred different things to them, and you're entertained in a hundred different ways. You get curiouser still; you wonder, what happens if I attack them? What happens if I kill them? If I kill everyone they love, and leave them alive, to forever wonder why you spared their life and no one elses? In the end, you can always reload, and get the happy ending. After all, they won't remember.

'But in the end, you're still a demon for what you've done.'

 

But, in the end, you say none of that. Not really. You think it, sure, but you don't say it. Not out loud, and not to them. You watch them face you with that same bright, hopeful expression, open and friendly. And you sigh again and let your legs relax, and tell a small lie that you wonder if they might interpret as truth.

"It doesn't matter, Frisk. Never mind." You take a deep breath, and rub your hands together. "So, any ideas? Or have you abandoned this Froggit folly in favour of moving forward?" You're pretty sure there's a Froggit up ahead that talks about excessive use of the letter F. 

They giggle at you. No, like, they actually direct a concentrated bubble of laughter at you. They totally do that. It misses by four inches. "Froggit folly? Well when you put it like that, how can I forget it?" They crouch down slowly, and feel out the ground before sitting, cross-legged. Apple-sauce style. You mimic them, though you were sitting in the exact position not moments before, and float down to hover above the ground in front of them. 

They're silent for a time, and you grow impatient. "What are you doing?"

"Well," they say, "we're having a heart-to-heart!" And then they splutter into laughter, and you remain unamused.

"We have been having a 'heart-to-heart' since you fell down here. We haven't stopped having a 'heart-to-heart' since."

"Yeah, yeah!" They wave a flippant hand at you. "'Kay, give me your hands." They place their hands on their knees, palms up.

You don't move. "For what purpose?"

"For the purpose of me having your hands, silly!"

"You're really not making a very persuasive argument here, Frisk."

"And you're not being a very cooperative narrator, ghost! Now gimme your hands."

You sigh heavily, successfully filling your quota for sighs for the entire next decade, and relinquish your hands unto them. They take your hands and hold them softly, resting your union on their knees and taking a deep breath. As they exhale, they let their chin fall to their chest and you feel the tension go out of their fingers.

"What are you doing?" you ask, confused. 

They cut you off with a sudden "Shh! Gimme a minute."

Your lips twitch into a smile. "You already have my hands, and now you want my time, too? I'm afraid that's a deal breaker, Frisk."

They break their next exhale off into a laugh, and shake their head at you in mocking disappointment. "I'm trying to concentrate. Shh!"

You remain dutifully quiet, and let the silence lull in waves in the small circle your arms create with theirs. At least, until it reaches the point where you've been sitting in silence for at least ten minutes, and nothing more has happened. You have a limit, you know.

"What could possibly be taking you ten minutes to concentrate on?"

"It hasn't been ten minutes," they say. "It's barely been three!" Lies. Lies and slander.

"Really, Frisk. Please explain to me what you're doing. I'm dying to know."

They shake their head at you again, but they're still laughing. "I'm trying to give up."

"It's not working. And I don't understand what my hands have to do with anything."

"I... I just..." They hesitate. "If what you said is true, and giving up is like dying... that's kind of a scary thought, you know." Their grip on your hands tighten, just a fraction. Had you not been focused on the sections of your skin that make contact with theirs with every other fibre of your being, you might not have noticed. Their fingers flutter like hummingbirds, and though you've not seen them for so very long, you know the constellations are matching up with the worried lines forming between their brows. Astronomers will be documenting the alignment of fear, worry, and loneliness mirrored in the night sky for years to come. "I just... wanted something to hold on to."

You're silent for a time. "I understand."

You're both silent for a time.

And nothing comes of it.

Finally, they sigh. An irritated exhale of air, like a hurricane released from a windchime. "Okay, I... I don't know how to do this."

You look at them. "Are you scared? Of doing this wrong, and dying?"

They fidget, with your hands still clasped in theirs. "N-no. Okay, yes, but-"

"Don't be." You look down, and run a hesitant thumb over their fingers. "You're not going to die." You take a brief moment for contemplation, then throw your hesitation to the wind. You lean towards them, and press your forehead against theirs, noses almost touching. They jump in surprise, but recover and lean against you in turn. "You can't. This is an ability that you control, Frisk. This is the power of your own soul, yours to wield as you see fit. I can promise to you that I will not let your soul unravel into nothing, so... have some faith." In saying this, you can feel Frisk curling their pinkie fingers around yours. It almost makes you laugh, but you haven't finished your inspiring monologue. You are _not_ going to finish saying all this optimistic garbage for nothing to come of it, so you hold the hilarity aside for later.

"Relax, and let go, Frisk." 

They take a final, deep breath, and exhale.

 

And just like that, you're back amidst the fallen leaves, save point iridescent beside you.

Now, you've got some translating to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (meet my weakness - multilingual chara)
> 
> but wait- wHAT was that?? you thought chara was being sERIOuS and emOTIONallY POSitiVE ??????? HHAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH
> 
> also i cant wait to get to the ACTUALLY EMOTIONAL bits like toriel's fight and stuff. oh boy am i gonna have fun with those. i mean im already putting these kids on the brink of tears and theyre just playing in /lEAveS/


	6. Fall With Me (We Go Together or Not At All)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chara is a troubled, immortal child. Frisk is, unfortunately, the only person they have to take it out on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns up five months late with starbucks and this chapter

Frisk stays leaned against you, face pressed to yours, breathing steadily.

"Frisk," you say.

They move back. "Huh? What?"

"It worked. You did it." You let go of their hands and drift back, elbows resting on your knees. "We're back at the save point."

"What! Really?" they almost squeal, and begin to bounce up and down. They flap their hands back and forth in the air, excitement radiating from them like the light from a star. Exactly like the light from a star, actually. They're glowing with the incandescence of the save point beside them.

"Yes, really. There's the Froggit you wanted to speak to."

"I did it!!!" They continue to bounce and squeal and flap their hands, giddiness tangible.

"You did."

They appear to be taking some time to calm down, so you take a moment to inspect the save point a little closer. You've always wondered about the nature of these things; they're so wonderfully  _odd_. Created by humans (by you, by Frisk), and yet so pure. Unsullied. Genuine beacons of hope. It stands at chest level, and its four points burst outwards from the concentrated spark of light at its centre. It falters and flickers, only to radiate out again like stubborn lantern flame. You hold a hesitant hand out to bathe in its coruscating glow, and you're surprised to find it warm.

Well, you knew it was warm, but- you've dipped your hands in the water of the moats so predominant in puzzles, and held your hands in the heart of the fireplace at Toriel's house, and felt nothing. No cold wetness, no burning pain to indicate that anything you feel is real to you, or you to it. You suppose that's what being a (human) ghost really is, after all. A barmecide memory of what once was. Memories can't feel things. They can't learn. They can't atone for their mistakes.

They can't change.

Now, monster ghosts, (or ghost-monsters?) _they_ can change. Well- sort of. Typically they stay the same until they become corporeal- which you suppose is a rule that could theoretically apply to you, as well. So then, if you had a body of your own - a real, corporeal body - could you change?

Would you change?

"Ghost?" Frisk says, startling you. Apparently they'd calmed down enough to stand up without you taking notice. Their sudden intrusion into your thoughts makes you twitch; the mid-air version of a startled jump.

You fidget for a moment, gaze caught once again by the save point. You give its chatoyant form one final look before turning back to Frisk.

"Ready to speak to the Froggit?" you ask.

"Mmm-hm!" They nod vigorously, and the motion displaces a fallen leaf that, for whatever reason, had been clinging to their hair.

You watch it drift softly to the ground before giving them directions to the Froggit, sitting as it is in the corner between the doorways.

 

The Froggit ribbits at Frisk again, no doubt preparing to speak verbatim from its earlier, one-sided conversation with them.

"It says..." you begin, "Excuse me, human."

"Ribbit, ribbit."

"I have some advice for you about battling monsters."

"Ribbit, ribbit..."

"If you act a certain way or fight until you almost defeat them..."

"Ribbit, ribbit-ribbit."

"They may not want to battle you anymore."

"Ribbit-ribb-ribbit..."

"If a monster does not want to fight you, please..."

"Ribbit, ribbit ribbit, ribbit-ribbit ribbit ribbit, ribbit. Croak. Ribbit."

You take a breath to translate what it's said, but- "Ribbit, ribbit ribbit ribbit, ribbit... ribbit..."

You wait. A long minute passes. Frisk fidgets uncomfortably. You narrow your eyes at the Froggit, and open your mouth again- "Ribbit ribbit ribbit! Ribbit, ribbit croak ribbit. Ribbit? Rib-ribbit... ribbit."

You raise an unseen eyebrow at it. Talk about long-winded run-on sentences. "Ribbit."

It appears to have finally ended its spiel, so you hazard to translate. "Use some mercy, human."

"Ribbit, ribbit."

"And those were just ordinary ribbits."

You turn to Frisk as the Froggit ceases its dialogue. This small exchange reminded you that Froggits are just as hopeless as you remember them being... as is the Froggits' language. Who needs that many words for 'mercy'? And 'some'? And 'use'? Although they only have one modern word for 'humans', which is 'ribbit'.

Though you remember the archaic meaning to be synonymous with 'child harvester'.

Frisk turns towards you. "Were you just... were you just making all that up?"

Frankly, you're offended. "Are you attempting to insinuate that I am an unreliable narrator? I find that a trifle rude, Frisk. Were I the sort to pretend to speak another language, I would most certainly make my translations interesting, at the very least." Perhaps next time you'll give the literal translations. You'll see how well they do trying to figure out whether the monster was talking about humans or making plans to pick unripe fruit before autumn. Even if it would take you about three hours to give every variation.

They laugh at you, making their way back to the next room with one hand against the wall. "No, no, I just didn't really know they could..."

"They could... what, exactly?"

"I didn't, uh, know they could, um, talk? I guess?"

"You mean you didn't think they were capable of intelligent thought."

They splutter. "W-well you-you said they were frogs!"

"You think frogs can't think?"

"Uh, um-"

"I'm joking, Frisk. That was a joke." You watch them crunch leaves beneath their feet. "Monsters are different to the animals of the surface. All of them are capable of intelligent thought, and most are capable of forming speech. There are mute monsters, of course, just as there are mute humans. Some, like the Froggits, have their own language- and fortunately for you, I know all of them." Hopefully. Unless some new language has developed since the last time you were awake, which is always possible.

"Wow," they say, awe evident in their voice. "You must be pretty smart to know all those languages."

You preen momentarily before realising, and clear the pride from your throat with a cough. "Well, at one point, it was necessary." You take the moment to change the subject. "By the way, you're coming to the corner. The other wall is in front of you."

They nod, and their stick bumps up against the eastern wall moments after you speak. They let go of the southern wall they had been following, and reach out to brush against the surface of the eastern one. You continue to follow them on their path around the edge of the room, hovering in the air beside them. On the way, Frisk encounters a Whimsun, and spares it - apparently having learned that attempts to console the creature only make it worse. You barely need to move their heart at all during the fight, watching Whimsum's butterflies orbit uselessly at a safe distance.

 

In the next room, everything is much the same. Though this time, you're both prepared to fall. Frisk hesitates a moment, only willing to move forward after they've taken hold of your hand, before they step onto the crumbling ground. You fall through the earth, slow their descent, and direct them to the door, as before.

Between there and the next room, they encounter a Froggit. They compliment it, as per usual, and you continue after keeping Frisk's heart safe from the attacking frog silhouette. You remind them to pick up the gold coins that the monsters leave behind, and they add three to their depthless pockets.

When the phone rings, Frisk takes Toriel's call, but hesitates a moment before answering. "B-scotch, mm-hmm." They take the compulsory three steps forward, take Toriel's next call, and speak their lines with... somewhat less energy than before. They're motionless for moments after Toriel hangs up, and looks troubled.

"Something the matter?" you ask.

"She..." They turn to face you. "Does she know what I did?"

"What you did?"

"The save point-thing."

"Oh. No, she shouldn't. Why?"

"Because she... she said... she said something different- to, to what she did earlier." Frisk looks worried, and tenses like a rabbit hiding in tall grass.

"What did she say?"

"She..." They swill words around in their mouth for a moment, before spitting them out like a rancid wine. "She knew I was- going to say butterscotch."

You stare at them.

"What- what did she say, exactly?"

"She- she said, that sometimes, um, when-when humans fall down here, she feels like... like-like she's seen them before." They wring their stick in their hands like a wet rag. "Will... will anybo-body else know?"

You hesitate. "She didn't... _know_ what you did. She just... had a feeling." Boss monsters do possess the uncanny ability to simply _know_. You remember the look in D- King Asgore's eyes the first time you...

"Did..." They hesitate. "Did that Froggit remember-"

You tear the words out of your throat with a grimace. "No, Frisk. It wouldn't have remembered. It might have-" You deliberate for a moment, words hovering between your teeth like a spoonful of bitter medicine. "It might have been afraid, for a moment, but because you didn't hurt it this time, it probably would have ignored that. They can't actually _remember_ you, Frisk. When you reload a save, it's like waking up from a dream. All the people you talked to, or fought, or walked past, might feel like they've seen you before, but that's very different to actually remembering your actions."

They sigh, and fidget. "Well, okay. It- feels... weird, though." They shift in place, moving their weight from foot to foot, thinking. "I... I don't think I wanna load saves anymore. Even if people can't remember. Waking up from a dream is okay, but..." You watch them fall apart at the seams, in slow motion. "I think I gave those monsters nightmares."

You're surprised by their reaction, and take a moment to study them closely. Their features are plastered with a thick coating of stricken guilt- and what you're pretty certain is fear. Their brows are scrunched together, shoulders bowed, posture comparable to a dying sunflower; unable to face the sun. Their knuckles are white around their stick and their fringe drenches their eyes with shadow. They could even be said to be on the verge of tears.

It's all _very_ convincing.

You're impressed, and the feeling bounces hollowly in your chest. Only to be expected of a human, really. Skilled liars, every one of them. Truthful ones are, after all, picked off young. You have to hold back a snort at a restrained twitch of their shoulders- aren't they laying it on a bit thick now? Monsters may buy the remorseful human shtick, but crying is pushing it. Or maybe they're trying to pass off laughter for sobbing?

"Of course, Frisk. Whatever you want." You turn away, and watch them from the corner of your vision. "Though, of course, you may not have a choice in the future."

They relax infinitesimally.

 

"Hey, there's a sign over there. It's likely an introduction to this puzzle. It might be a good idea to read it."

"Where?"

You direct them over to the sign, and they take three steps towards it before their (your) [their] ~~/your/~~ phone rings again. It's Toriel, of course, worrying about Frisk's cinnamon vs. b-scotch preference. You roll your eyes and hover close enough to read the sign while you listen to them reply in the background with adamant 'mm-mm's and affirmative mumbles. It takes you a little while to detangle the prose carved with a heavy hand into the old stone of the sign, between the time it takes you to roll your eyes and ignore the urge to put your head through the wall in cerebral distress.

You finally manage to cut the wordcount down from a thousand to ten by the time Toriel hangs up.

Once Frisk's attention is back on you, you read out the sign to them. "Three out of four grey rocks recommend you push them." Agony.

"What rocks?" Frisk asks.

"Well, there's one rock in this room. It's several paces behind you, and then to the left." You float beside them as they make their way over to the rock. They stop once their stick hits its base.

"So... do I push it?" They poke the side of the rock with their stick and it slides away from them, size severely misleading to its actual weight.

"I suppose so."

They continue to push the rock until it clicks into place over a large platform. This triggers the spikes barricading the other room to retract suddenly into the ground. The noise makes Frisk jump.

"What IS that? I keep hearing it!"

"I assume you're talking about the noise the spike traps are making when you disarm them?"

"Spike traps??"

"Part of the puzzles."

"Scary."

"Indeed."

As they walk around the rock to continue to the next room, they're jumped by a Froggit. Get it? Jumped? Like- leaped? Because, frogs- you know? Oh, look, forget it. Frisk chooses to compliment it again, and you move their heart upwards in preparation for the magic Froggit's leap. Frisk follows up with mercy, retrieves the gold coins, and moves on to the next room.

Which is, of course, another falling puzzle. Oh, joy.

You place a hand on Frisk's shoulder to stop them while you look over the floor, cracked earth betraying the roots beneath.

"What is it?" they ask.

"Another of the falling puzzles. Like the one from earlier." You eye the crumbling ground, only inches away from Frisk's shoes.

"Oh, so, you're just gonna fly me down again?" They actually sound excited. You roll your eyes, to the effect of no one but yourself.

"It's not that simple. This one's a maze puzzle, as well. We need to remember the right path to take in order to make it to the next room."

"Oh." They look intrigued. "So what's the right path?"

"It's hidden beneath."

"Beneath? Beneath what?"

"Beneath the floor."

"So- you do gotta fly me down?"

"Well..." Yes, alright, you do. You're not going to admit that they were right, though. "No." There's a sudden itch in your fingers. They tremble. Soil is displaced from your sleeves and fades before it hits the floor. "Not at all, in fact." Your shaking hands displace words in your throat and thoughts in your mind. They displace your lips into an unearthly smile across your face.

The human turns back towards you, obviously confused. "Then what-" _Shove._

The soil parts for them and they fall through. You watch the earth swallow them whole. There's a moment of perilous silence as surprise wraps fingers around their throat and chokes the scream. No, see? You were right. You don't have to fly them down at all.

Then they scream. Your tether pulls taut and you are dragged through the dirt, falling with them. But see? That's the joke. It's funny because you weren't wrong. This room is deeper than the other one, so there's more time to kill before they hit the floor. Haha, isn't that funny too? More time to kill. Haha-ha. No, really, see? It's _so_ funny. You giggle. The sound rises up through your throat like a string of bubbles from a drowning victim. This is so funny. _So_ funny. The floor rises up to bat them out of the air like a cat with a shredded mouse. Like a wolf with a baby deer. Bloody, dripping. A human and a pig marked for the slaughter. A human and another human. A smaller human. Helpless. Falling.

Screaming in fear.

Time seems to hold its breath. You reach out, grab them, pull them up just before they hit the ground. The ends of their hair brush the cold dirt floor and rake up leaves in their wake. You reach out with your other hand and wrap an arm around their waist. The momentum spills your hair around your face and your vision is obscured for a moment, but after the danger passes you let them touch the ground again, gently. Time exhales. You let go. Frisk's feet plant themselves on the ground and crush leaves to dust.

You watch them stumble away from you, backwards, and then they trip on an errant shoelace and fall once more. This time you let them hit the ground. Their eyes are wide, unseeing beneath the tattered curtain of their fringe, mouth agape in horror. They scrabble around in the leaves, wanting to escape but not knowing where is safe, face turned to you always. There is confusion scribbled across their expression in red crayon, betrayal haunting like a ghost in the shadows. There's noise tearing its way out of your mouth and clawing around your teeth and rattling your shoulders and you think it could be laughter? There's a similar noise coming from their throat and you're suddenly not sure.

That was funny, right? You force out a coherent giggle, just to test. The sound clacks against your ribs and reverberates in your fingernails and Frisk...

Frisk cries.

You stop laughing.

You stand there, over them, as they lie crying on the ground. They are surrounded by dead plants and sobbing into their hands and this is _familiar_.

An errant laugh escapes the cage of your teeth, a straggler, and you cover your mouth to thwart future prison breaks.

This is familiar.

_This is familiar._

"Frisk?"

The sobbing stops. No, you're mistaken; it pauses, for moment, while Frisk pulls their knees up to their chest and away from a hand you hadn't even realised had started reaching out towards them. Then they cry into their knees.

You watch the wet patches grow on their ripped leggings and hover in the air before them on your knees, like one might kneel in a church.

It wasn't that big of a deal, right?

"Frisk?"

You reach out again. They hit your hand away as it touches them, and you rip it back as if they burn you.

"Frisk."

Their crying is muffled, but it echoes. Like a gunshot in an empty cavern, it rings.

There's a sour taste in your mouth, like rotten oranges, acidic against your teeth. You swallow it down and it festers in your stomach.

"Frisk?"

The acidic taste grows stronger, and what you've swallowed coils like a snake and reaches back up your throat, and you almost vomit pure guilt. Frisk's crying grows softer, and you watch them cave in on themself as if trying to erase their own existence.

It was just a joke.

"It was just a joke! Stop crying."

They shake their head against their knees and curl up into a sobbing ball.

You watch, silently. 

(You made him cry again.)

What? No, this is Frisk, you made Frisk cry- not... him.

"I didn't mean it. It was just a joke. You're fine, see? I didn't let you get hurt. So stop crying!" You're getting frustrated now. Why won't they stop crying? "Stop crying! You..." _Crybaby._ That's what you were going to say, right?

( _"Asriel, stop crying! You crybaby. I didn't even push you that hard! See? You're not even bleeding!"_ )

This is familiar, and you know why. But- now what do you do with the crying mess before you?

( _Your brother's sleepy voice, in the night. "You just have to be nicer, Chara. Just... be nice."_ )

"I'm sorry," you try. There's no response. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

( _"And how am I supposed to do that, Asriel?"_

 _He'd rolled over in his bed, to face you. "Just... I dunno, Chara. Like, when you say you're sorry, you have to mean it. Otherwise you're just lying."_ )

"Frisk, sincerely. I didn't... I wasn't trying to hurt you."

( _"That sounds annoying."_

_"What? Annoying?"_

_"Because I have to lie to myself, too."_

_"What? No you don't! Just be sorry when you do bad things!"_

_You'd squinted at him. "How?"_ )

"Are you okay?"

They shake their head, no, their first response to your spoken words.

"Can... can I help?"

Another shake, no.

You look around. There's not much to see down here, other than the labyrinthian leaf litter. So, you get to work. Narrator, right? That's your job now. You trace the path with your eyes, memorising the safe way through the crumbling earth above. The leaves are old, but crisp. Decay is held off here with magic. The only time a leaf, here, is allowed to melt into the earth is when the leaves from the tree outside the old house are brought here as replacement. Sometimes Toriel brings them. Sometimes other monsters.

Sometimes, they just appear.

New leaves replacing old leaves in an endless cycle, until the tree, parent to all, should die. Then, you suppose, these leaves would just stay here forever. Although you aren't even sure that tree can die. It's been there longer than you can remember, as long as Asgore had been there, at least. As with most plants down here in the underground, it's the concentration of magic that sustains them. So then, perhaps if all the monsters were to die- or, less morbidly, if they simply all left -then the concentration of magic would go down, the plants would slowly decay, and the puzzles would fade into obscurity. You assume the save point at the entrance, and the save point Frisk made, would also fade to nothing. Perhaps your own corpse, too, would finally rot away in its entirety.

All in good time, you suppose.

 

It takes a while for Frisk to stop crying. You try to move them from the middle of the open room, but they repel your touch each time you reach for them.

"I'm just trying to move you over to a wall," you try to explain.

They shake their head violently, and gurgle something that barely sounds like English as it drips from their mouth and mixes with their tears.

"What?" you ask, after staring at them in confusion.

"Mmmont mm-much-much me-mme... mont..."

It takes you a moment to decipher their stammered mumblings. _'Don't touch me.'_ Well. Alright. You hover in the air, legs crossed, at a loss for what to do. You sit and watch Frisk rock back and forth with their arms wrapped around their knees and hands fisted in their sweater, but that gets boring. So you sit, and float, and... think. You try to think about anything other than what just happened, because it was just a stupid joke that Frisk will get over and it doesn't even matter, honestly. They're just being a- overly emotional, about this. About nothing. Haven't they ever had someone push them over before? Besides, you've always caught them before- they should trust you by now! They should... trust...

Your gaze slides downwards, away from them, to your own hands. You watch them fidget. You scrape dirt out from beneath a bitten fingernail with another, equally gnawed-at nail, only to watch it reappear immediately. After abandoning that particular quest of futility, you let your hands drop back to your lap.

Being a ghost sucks. (And the last person to trust you ended up dead.)

You can't lie down, you can't sleep. Can't take a nap while they get over _whatever_ emotional hurdle is in their path right now. Even so, there's not much to see with your eyes open. So you close them. You ignore the fact that somehow you can't see through your own eyelids, despite your semi-transparent state- you have the feeling that having to see all the time would only be irritating. You rest your head on your hands, elbows on your knees, and sit in silence for a time. Your head is a frustrating hurricane of calamity, with fragments of long-dead conversations breaking the surface and sending their voices to crackle amongst your own internal discourse; you shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have pushed them- they're not your Asriel, they won't forgive you, they don't know you, they'll _leave_ \- they'll hate you for this, and as well they should, right? They won't smile at you again, won't laugh. Won't get you to read out signs or translate monsters... won't make you help them navigate through the underground. Won't ask about Toriel, or get you to describe what she looks like again. Won't have you to move their heart around during fights, won't...

They'll _die_ without you.

Your eyes fly open in anger, and you wonder why it matters so much. Why do you even care? It was just a joke! It was funny, wasn't it? _It was funny!_

"No. It wasn't."

Your gaze flickers to Frisk. "What?"

"It wasn't... wasn't funny." Their voice is wielded like a disembodied tree limb, and it sends you reeling from the blunt-force trauma.

"What isn't funny?" You're confused.

"Th'... the joke. I didn't like it. Wasn't funny."

"You mean- when I pushed you?"

"What you were just talkin' about," they mumble. "That was mean. You're _mean_ , som-sometimes."

What you were just talking about? "I didn't- I wasn't talking."

They still haven't taken their face away from their knees. "It wasn't... just a joke, it was..." They sniffle, wipe their nose on their sleeve. "It was mean, I didn't like it."

"I..." You don't know what to say. Were you talking aloud without realising? "I'm sorry."

They sniffle again. "Okay."

You sit in silence again for a time. Your mind races. You don't normally talk without realising- why would you start that habit now? Unless they... somehow...

You clear your mind, the way someone might clear their throat. Your thoughts are calmer now, old memories buried once more in their rightful places. Which makes it all the easier to close your eyes, let your shoulders relax, and your mind drift. You let it sink into the depths of your heart; it settles in the centre of your core. You can feel the rope, the tether, the connection between yourself and Frisk's heart. You can feel it every time you need to move their heart from danger during fights, but this time, it's- different. You push your consciousness into their very soul, down the heartstring and into their heart. And suddenly- you feel them. You can feel their actual, literal heart beating in their chest, a warm, heavy thud. You can feel where their hands have gone numb, balled up in the fabric of their sweater and wrapped around their knees. Their stomach feels hollow, and you wonder when they last had a proper meal. There are scrapes across their legs and arms, and they sting still. The bones of their neck and back ache, just slightly, and you realise the reason behind that with a start. Those, after all, were the ones that broke upon their fall into the underground. The ones that killed them. The ones you ultimately healed. Still, the feeling... is uncomfortable, disquieting.

But the thing that sets this experience apart from every other time you've been in their body is - suddenly - you can feel their mind.

They aren't thinking much; their thoughts are a dead landscape compared to your own. But as you press in further, you feel their mind jump away from yours in surprise. Fear, you can feel. Loneliness, too. But mostly fear. Frisk's whole world is blank, clouded over by broken sight. They can physically feel the leaves beneath them, and the dirt beneath that, and their own body. They can smell the earth, the crunched leaves. They can hear the echo of their own heartbeat in their ears, and the scuttle of some unseen monster above. They can feel the tug of the heartstring in their chest like a compass to a magnet, leading it home.

But other than that, everything beyond their reach, beyond their hearing- their world is emptiness. Possibility. Risk. Every step is a chance to fall. Every living being another chance to be attacked. The same applied to their life on the surface; for years every move had been a calculated risk. Frisk, unfortunately, wasn't that great at math. They'd had to trust that everyone else was. They had trusted that you were.

They had trusted you.

_They trusted **you.**_

Their mind violently recoils from yours, shoves you out, forces you back into your own form with a mental strength that sends you to the limit of your tether. You stare at them with your own eyes, see how they face you in shock once more.

"Frisk?"

"What- what was that?"

"I was- I think, I-" You scramble for the right words. "I think I was in your head."

"What- how?"

"Like..." You focus again. You try to yell the words in your mind, like earlier, but this time you focus your thoughts across the heartstring to Frisk. _'Like this!'_

They jump back, hands covering their ears, and you feel a flicker of regret send thorns through your stomach, like a whip of brambles. "Don't yell!"

"Sorry." Then you think it at them, quieter. _'Sorry.'_

"You..." They relax, just slightly. They take a moment to deliberate.  _'You don't have to whisper, either.'_ Their voice echoes in your head like church bells tolling noon. You detect the slightest hint of humour thrown in with their words- but it feels forced. Insincere. You frown without realising.

_'I really am sorry.'_

_'It's okay.'_

They're lying. You realise this almost immediately. They're a terrible, terrible liar. Worse than Asriel had ever been. The truth is in the set of their shoulders, still tensed. It's in their clenched fists, gripping handfuls of dirt to hide the shaking of their fingers. Their very thoughts betray them; the truth wraps tightly around the words they send to you, intention to deceive as clear as if they had admitted it aloud.

With this realisation comes the understanding that if you can feel the truth behind their words, so can they. They can sense your insincerity, your lies.

Why, then, are they accepting it?

 _'I didn't mean to make you cry.'_ That much is true, at least.

They only nod.

_'It was just a joke.'_

Another nod.

 _'I...'_ You hesitate. _'I won't do it again.'_

Their mouth tightens at that. Seems there is a line they're unwilling to let you cross. _'Don't.'_

_'I won't.'_

_'Please. Don't.'_ Their desperation claws at you, a starving cat attacking the inside of your skull. They are so, so afraid of the power you have over them. You- think. You're not really sure what that feeling is, and their mind shies from yours when you try to move closer.

You take a deep breath. "I won't." You say this aloud, but you don't really need to. It's the truth, after all.

There aren't any more puzzles that, to your memory, you can shove them into.

They take a deep, shuddering breath of their own. The noise echoes in the large room. Yours didn't. Your voice doesn't carry any meaning to the corporeal world- only to Frisk. They are your only medium in this universe. "Okay."

You don't have to be reading their mind to tell how thick with lies that single word is.

Frisk rises to their shakey feet with the help of their stick, crushing more leaves beneath them. _'So,'_ they send over your link, _'what now?'_

You take a moment to think. _'Well, I've memorised the path we need to take.'_

_'How?'_

_'There's a path, marked out by clearings in the leaves. If we follow that path on the floor above, we'll get past the puzzle safely.'_

They kick around the leaves with their feet, leaning on their stick as they search for empty path.

 _'It's over here.'_ You guide them to the path so they can walk it for themself. You let them feel out the lay of the room, running hands on the walls and feet over leaf piles.

 _'There's a sign, here,'_ they send.

You sigh. You couldn't get close enough to the sign earlier to read it, and you've no interest in spending more time down here deciphering text. _'It says...'_ "Stay off the leaves."

They make a face at you. Maybe you hadn't switched over to your actual voice quickly enough. _'Well? Ready to continue?'_ you ask.

They let their hand slide from the carved stone of the sign, and nod. You lead them to the door. Time to put this puzzle behind the both of you, for good.

 

You wonder, though, if you'll ever manage to put these Ruins behind you too. Seems like you've been here... an eternity. The time, you think, has come to finally leave it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ('Rib', meaning [literally] 'small one', 'baby', 'tadpole', 'family', 'bipedal'; [figuratively] 'immature', 'unripe', 'vulnerable' - 'bit' meaning [literally] 'to end', 'thief', 'the autumn equinox', 'tree-dwelling'; [figuratively] 'harvest', 'death', 'five-fingered', 'serial murderer') ...Froggit language has a lot of overlap. It relies heavily on nuance and context. Trying to talk to a Froggit about classical music when listening to rock and roll is impossible. And the 'croak'ing? Just a speech impediment.
> 
> now ok ok like. dont murder me for this. chara's impulsiveness is actually inspired by something i did when i was a kid? i remember playing some vampire/werewolf/something weird-inspired variation of tag with my friends and- for some reason ?? i just?? walked up behind my friend and bit him (really, really hard) on the shoulder ??? like that sounds so weird but i DID that and i felt sO BAD afterwards bc i didnt mean to hurt him?? but i can imagine that chara would be super impulsive and just, kinda, hurt people for no reason (maybe bc random violence was normal in their family or village) to the point where their Mr. Responsible Princeling Brother would be like... chara... no. as chara just giggles hysterically in the bg
> 
>  um also if u want to kick my ass for taking so long to put this up you can reach me on tumblr at triptukhos
> 
> ok now im mcfucking sprinting away bc this is the first time ive updated in MONTHS i am so *yelling frm the distance* v sorry nd i love u all *voice fades out*


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